


War Paint

by notenuffcaffeine, technologykilledreality



Series: Monster [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Crazy Peter Hale, Derek Hale & Jordan Parrish Bromance, Gen, Human Trafficking, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Kidnapping, Legal Drama, M/M, Manipulative Peter, Mpreg, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Omega Verse, POV Jordan, POV Stiles, Pack Dynamics, Poor Stiles, Protective Derek Hale, Rare Pairings, Stiles-centric, Wolf Derek Hale, Zen Derek Hale, because omegas, canon compliant through s4, dream walking, except allison doesn't die, future-fic sorta, gender roles angst, hunters are not your friends, omega dynamics, omegas and matchmakers, oops stiles stepped in it, peter is not just an uncle, ravens and crows, senior year in beacon hills, society sucks, stiles enters Dating Hell, this one is darker than the others, this won't make a damn bit of sense without the first two stories, what's a parrish?, what's a stiles?, you will probably get a bit angry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 98,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4747499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenuffcaffeine/pseuds/notenuffcaffeine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/technologykilledreality/pseuds/technologykilledreality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Okay, so was he serious?" Stiles asked when he got his voice to work again. His dad looked calmer but he was still mad. That left Stiles looking to Whittemore. "Can they do that? I have to stay with him?"</p>
<p>The expressions on their faces didn't look promising. His lawyer just shook his head.</p>
<p>"Come on! I will scrub toilets with toothbrushes or something. Anything. Just not that," Stiles pressed. Whittemore looked at him with open pity. </p>
<p>"It will depend on how the order is written. But he was pretty clear in the verbal articulation," said the lawyer.</p>
<p>"It's split custody for a month," Stiles' dad reminded him. "Chaperoned custody. So it’ll be you and me and the shithead."</p>
<p>"And your companion animal," added Derek.</p>
<p>-- or --</p>
<p>In the aftermath of his kidnapping and attempted sale, Stiles finds himself up against the courts because he tried to stand against his kidnappers. Jordan can only do so much to help with his family dragging in a new round of trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Annnnd this one is back!! It'll be slow going, (because life, blah) but it's still alive! 
> 
> As before, blame technologykilledreality for this dark and twisted mess. It's his fault. 
> 
> Also, not kidding on two things:  
> 1) this probably won't make much sense without reading War Without Weapons and Bloodstream first.  
> 2) I am pretty sure some parts will have you wanting to strangle things. Brace yourselves. Maybe arm yourself with a stuffed animal and some hot cocoa or something, idk. But you've been warned.
> 
> Other than that... Enjoy! :)
> 
> __________

Heat sucked. It hurt and it made him cranky. When added to bruises and a slowly recovering case of smoke inhalation, it got worse. The chaos of heat didn't drive the other stuff away faster, it just dogpiled everything together. Stiles coughed and hacked his way through school on Tuesday. It was all a whirlwind of avoiding panic and remembering how to breathe as his lungs and throat healed up. By the end of the day Tuesday, he was exhausted and, as they entered the last class of the day, he actually tried letting the four-legged wolf-Derek carry him on his back to the kids' mats. Stiles was hoping for a nap, while Derek was probably hoping to murder him in his sleep. Stiles could have gotten behind the idea.

The omega track worked on the buddy system and Stiles was the only one they had probably ever had to assign a babysitting buddy. Shawn tolerated him alright but his patience was pushed as far as Derek's when Stiles tried to drape over Derek's back rather than walk twenty feet to carpet.

“There’s kids here,” Shawn berated him as he kept Stiles standing upright.

“Yeah, kids get _naptime_ ,” said Stiles. He pouted a little, tried not to cough up a lung, and stood like a well-mannered adult was expected to. He pointed at Derek the wolf. “And I would like to point out he’s wearing a coat that some cultures use as bedding.”

The wolf standing just steps in front of him turned around to snap at his hand. Stiles sleepily dodged but not before he caught teeth. He shook his hand to clear it off. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Big baby with pointy teeth.”

They had Derek on the school-mandated leash and he looked very nervous in the entryway of the day care center. Even Stiles could hear the children screeching and smell the diapers and all the other various warning signs of small human spawn running amok. This was not the guard-dog’s favorite part of the day. Stiles patted him on the head and opened the child-proof gate to let Derek inside. The furry ears stood straight up and every step on the laminate flooring was very careful, one slow paw at a time as he looked around, wary of ambush. When he was clear, Stiles waved Shawn through.

“Pregnant and fragile before virginal and sarcastic,” he said in invitation. Shawn huffed but didn’t argue and followed after the wolf. Mere seconds later, the three of them were besieged by children, most under the age of four. Stiles wasn't ready for it and scrambled to catch up to Derek, put himself between the kids and the wolf. Not because he thought Derek would eat the small things, but more because he didn't want the teething two year old to try to eat the wolf.

There was a minute of noise and Derek kindly sat and stayed and let Stiles control the small kids who wanted to pet the puppy. He didn't seem to take offense to being called a puppy, which was a good thing as it turned out, and he didn't bark when one of the kids managed to step on his tail. Shawn helped ping the kids back toward the rest of the group, one by one, until the en mass novelty of the wolf seemed to subside.

The whole show was supervised unobtrusively by a distrustful Mr. Vecchio, the man lurking within an easy dodge toward a child to save it from a deadly animal if needed. Not like Stiles blamed him; Derek the wolf had been deputized so that he could play guard dog with the trusted credentials of a sheriff's department trained officer, which meant that not only was there an instinct-driven wolf in the kids' playroom, it was a wolf who had been trained to kill on command. That would make anyone who knew _children_ paranoid. But Derek played the part and listened, most of the time before Stiles had said anything at all, and he tolerated the kids better than Stiles did.

After a few minutes, Stiles sat down on the floor, making a face and stifling a cough. Derek took that as a hint that it was okay to breathe and he set his head down on his paws. Shawn stood over them, a kid in his arms happily playing with a pair of blocks. The baby shoved one of the blocks against Shawn's face, gentle mostly, and ran it along his cheek like a race car. Shawn just closed his eyes and braced against it, reached up to snag the baby's hand and chide him about it. The kid gurgled and flailed his arms, tossed the block to the ground inches from Derek's nose. The wolf's ear twitched when a three year old climbed on his neck.

"We're gonna need a better plan," said Shawn. He took the hand of the child that Stiles pried away from the wolf and steered them back to the rest of the class. Vecchio wasn't making them pick a baby-buddy because of the wolf, but being a disruption wasn't going to help the kids, or their classmates, or their own grades.

"I sit here and breathe and you chase the kids away," said Stiles. "There is nothing wrong with this plan."

"You want to whine about breathing, try having a baby kick you in the gut because you haven't fed her in two hours," said Shawn. _He_ was apparently only showing up to class for the free snack-time.

"Not my scene, man," said Stiles, shaking his head. "Only kids who kick me ever will be old enough to wear shoes."

The look on Shawn's face said he wanted to call him a liar but he wasn't comfortable enough yet with the more interesting term "Bullshit!" to risk it around kids. "Pretty sure you said you got married over the weekend and it wasn't to somebody equipped with a uterus, pseudo or otherwise," he said instead.

Ears turned pink, Stiles shrugged it off. "That's on paper. I'm keeping my name. And I'm not popping out babies. Not exactly my thing."

"How would you know?" Shawn asked. Stiles gave him a flat look.

"Seriously? I faint at the sight of _needles_ ," he said. "I have no business getting up close and personal with them for health tests and all that. And kids have to get _immunizations_ and that's just _more needles_..."

"That is the most pansy-ass excuse anybody has ever made up," Shawn said. And he was right. It was a pansy-ass excuse. But that didn't stop Stiles from breaking out coughing from laughing too hard at Shawn's stumbling over swearing. Shawn turned the embarrassed kind of pink though the grin on his face was smug and proud of himself. It traded off for a look of brief surprise, then he waved a hand at Stiles.

"Give me your hand," he said. Stiles shook his head, thinking Shawn was offering to help him stand.

"I'm staying here a min-"

"Not what I meant," said Shawn. A moment later he grabbed Stiles' hand to show him. Stiles reached up as ordered and suddenly his hand rested on Shawn's stomach. Under his palm, a baby kicked at him. A very active baby had decided that Shawn was their own personal punching bag and Stiles could feel it even through Shawn's shirt. It was... Weird and yet the coolest thing Stiles had seen since werewolves.

Shawn wasn't huge or anything, could mostly still hide the baby bump with the button-down Hawaiian shirts he wore. But that was the first time it really sunk in for Stiles that the appearance of the mild beer-gut was because of an actual baby. He knew that it was possible and a thing that happened a lot, but it had always been more of an abstract, just a theory that maybe someday science could replicate and explain. Stiles was used to his own internal problems, knew the pain and annoyance of heat well enough, but those were normal. It was just how he was. It never really sunk in until then that maybe the chaos served a purpose, maybe there was something else he was actually capable of experiencing. Shawn was just a stupid kid like him, so if he could host a little lifespawn then maybe it was possible that someday Stiles could too.

"It's a girl?" Stiles asked. Shawn nodded, grinning and proud.

"Yeah. Good thing too. Chloe wanted a girl," he said.

"Get her in soccer quick," said Stiles. His humor had returned but he was still a little taken aback. He tried to shake it off. "Why didn't Chloe go first?"

Shawn gave him a confused look. Stiles waved toward the general state of _pregnant_.

"Chloe's a girl. She didn't help make that. Why didn't Chloe get pregnant first?" he clarified. "It's easier. My new in-laws did it that way. First she got pregnant with their kid, then they went and got him knocked up so that they could bitch at each other and share the full joys of the experience."

Shawn seemed amused but shrugged. "Chloe has to finish school and get into a good college. But she wants a kid. So it turned out good this way."

Stiles looked pointedly at the one year old child batting at Derek's ears and bubbling up noise amid the room filled with more noise. "I think you're crazy," he said. "Even the dog thinks you're crazy." To be nice to the werewolf though, Stiles crawled after the baby to shoo him off. It backfired and the baby went after him and his shiny ring.

"That's okay," Shawn replied. Stiles got tackled by a toddler and his friend was way too smug about it. While Stiles tried to convince aching muscles to sit up and overpower the little kid, Shawn supervised with crossed arms over his beer-gut baby. "I think you're a bad liar. It washes out."

Stiles shot him a halfhearted glare for it. Then the baby he had wrestled with settled in his lap and clung to his hand with the ring.

"What are you? Some kinda magpie?" Stiles grumbled at the baby now in his lap and trying to wrench the bit of metal off his finger. "Mine. Not yours."

Not that he wanted to give Shawn the satisfaction but Stiles caught himself staring at the brown haired baby, wondering what Jordan might have looked like that young. Normally the traits carried forward. Any kid of Jordan's would look like Jordan. But Stiles wouldn't admit to wondering if maybe the kid could look a little like him, too.

 

***

 

Thanks to Stiles' cough and the general feeling of blah that translated in to him leaning on things, Mrs. Malcolm actually called his dad and sent him home on Wednesday. Stiles didn't complain and crashed on the couch for the rest of the day. He expected Derek to stand up on two legs and go home but instead the wolf climbed up on the couch and fenced him in. The only explanation Stiles could figure was that it was wolf-speak for "shut-up-and-get-better."

It all gave him time to sort things out in his head. And that territory was occupied with a lot of clutter around the pain-haze. Stiles' life had gotten so bizarre. His oldest friend was a werewolf, his new best friend was a wolf as often as he was a human, and _oh by the way_ Stiles Stilinski was currently known to the state of California as Stiles Stilinski-Parrish. That was a twist no one saw coming. Including Stiles. He hadn't seen that one hit him until he was recovering in the hospital.

On one level, he liked it. He liked Jordan. Stiles and Lydia spent two months trying to puzzle out Jordan's ability to survive fire and they got exactly nowhere on it. He went dormant after all the stress from the whole assassin-killing-spree died out. Things stopped catching on fire and Derek said Jordan was trying to pretend it didn't exist. He apparently did alright at pretending, as long as nobody counted that time he burned a house down. Stiles was rather a fan of that one time, so he counted it. Now he liked getting to molest the deputy in out-of-the-way corners when his dad and the rest of the world wasn't looking. Every five minutes his brain wandered back to Jordan, what he was doing, if he was smiling, where was he... Whenever he finally got a new phone, Stiles planned on harassing him with text messages during the day, imagining Jordan's cheeks go pink with embarrassment; the guy had this hang-up about dating his boss' son, go figure.

But that was dating. That was playing around, getting used to somebody. Getting used to seeing Jordan Parrish as something other than his dad's deputy, or the guy who randomly lit stuff on fire.

That was all different from being married. That was the fun stuff. The real stuff was different, things like how it meant Stiles would have to leave home. Leave the pack. He'd have to change things. He would rather change them for someone he knew, for Jordan, over someone who would buy another human being. But he didn't really want to change anything at all. Stiles wanted a chance to find something that felt normal before he went and changed things again. Jordan was new. Brand-new and shiny sparkling clean, and Stiles always broke things that showed up like that. It always went sideways.

The reality was that he didn't want to be married. It wasn't part of his plan. He had stayed out of dating, stayed off the alpha track, intentionally dodged all things Omega since he was eleven years old, all because he had a plan. His dad had always promised to help him, to make sure he got what he needed, pulled strings to get Stiles where he needed to be, let him stay on the alpha track.

Stiles couldn't expect Jordan to do that for him. Jordan was the alpha. He already had his life together (aside from the _lighting things on fire_ part.) and now he had to rearrange everything because he helped Stiles out of an Omega Problem. It felt like punishing the guy for being a good guy.

But it also scared Stiles. He knew his dad would help him, but he didn't have the same guarantee with Jordan. If Jordan didn't want to let Stiles go to school, he didn't have to sign the paperwork requesting the omega be accepted. According to the piece of paper that his dad and Jordan had both signed, he was legally responsible for Stiles, from finances to medical issues, for everything. Jordan was a great guy and Stiles believed him when he said he wanted the best for him, wanted Stiles to be his family - maybe he even wanted to start a family, _holy shit!_ \- but that was a lot of responsibility.

Suddenly, without the slightest warning, Jordan had all the power. He controlled the outcome of eight years of work. And he didn't know the first thing about any of it. Stiles liked Jordan, trusted him, but because his name was on a piece of paper next to Jordan's signature, he was a little afraid of him too.

It all made for a very bad mood and Stiles stayed hidden behind a wolf all afternoon to avoid it. He ended up falling asleep with the TV on Jerry Springer and his face buried in a clean wolf-coat. If he drooled in his sleep, Derek didn't give him hell for it.

He was woke up that night by his dad’s arrival home. Stiles hadn’t heard the door open and wasn’t expecting to hear footsteps or to have something soft and plastic dropped on his head to bounce off his chin and hit him in the gut. He flailed at the surprise and realized the offending object had landed half on him and half on the wolf still next to him. Stiles was sweaty and warm but it somehow helped having an overwarm werewolf right there heating the air around him, too. Feeling groggy, and every single bruise he had managed to collect over the weekend, he struggled to sit up without disturbing Derek. Then he realized what his dad had thrown at him.

“Saw the bathroom was low, picked up a new pack,” his dad announced. The good mood was even accompanied by a peck on the forehead as he passed by. Stiles blinked at him, blinked at the plastic package that had been tossed on him, and then at Derek. The wolf grumbled and set his head back down on his paws. Stiles swore a blue streak and scrambled up off the couch, clutching the pads his dad had helpfully bought for him. He checked the couch visually as he patted down his pants as subtly as possible. No embarrassing trails of bodily fluids had been left behind, which was good because nobody wanted to know about that. Small favors.

“Back later,” he managed for Derek and then rushed to the bathroom. Sometimes he hated his life. He was drenched in sweat and overheated and he felt like he must reek to a werewolf. Stiles grabbed a shower and found clean clothes, and this time he didn't forget the pads since his dad had helpfully thrown them at him. It was the more embarrassing detail of life as an omega, overactive glands doing everything they could to encourage instinct. The scent Peter said tormented the werewolves once a month was explained on the Internet in crude terms as a natural lubricant. It didn't take anything at all to get worked up, especially during heats, and the pads kept that from getting messy when it surprised a careless omega. All the awkward. Stiles barricaded himself in his room to get over it.

He was surprised to find Derek hadn't bailed when he finally got back to the kitchen. Stiles watched his dad stammer through asking what to feed a wolf for dinner - _"Wait, can werewolves eat chocolate?"_ \- and Derek didn't complain about a bowl of macaroni and cheese, nor did he go get his stuff and un-wolf. After dinner, the stupid werewolf steered Stiles back to the couch to be smothered.

"Whatever, man. You're the one with the super-sniffer," Stiles grumbled at him. The wolf replied by biting Stiles' nose.

 

***

 

By Thursday at noon, Stiles had decided that withdrawal was the worst thing ever. Being addicted to anything was no picnic, finding out the hard way he was addicted to his friends just sucked, but trying to recover from the damage done was like being sawn open at the middle and torn two directions at once. It was the worst heat of his life as the screwed up chemical chaos that lived in his bloodstream tried to balance itself again. He felt dizzy when he stood up, felt like the room was spinning when he sat down, and the werewolf-oven roasting away beside him on the couch was the only thing that seemed to keep his temperature down, because of course _that_ makes sense and omega systems thrive on _logical_ human behavior.

"This is Scott's fault," he informed Derek. "And yours. Text him and tell him I'm not talking to him but he owes me a huge freaking pizza."

The wolf huffed at him and kept his eyes closed.

"And Whittemore is the devil. And the school superintendent is... I don't even know but they're worse. What's worse than the devil?" Stiles seemed confused. The wolf grumbled out an answer but Stiles didn't understand it. Because he didn't speak wolf. _Right_.

The doorbell rang then, rattled around in Stiles' brain a couple times before he realized what he was hearing. Finally, irritable and annoyed, Stiles moved to answer the door. Derek's ears stood perked up and alert as he followed after. The moment the door was open, he shoved his nose through to make himself known to whoever was out there. When he saw the man standing at the door, Stiles was disappointed when his guard dog didn't growl.

"What do you want?" Stiles asked, making sure none of his omega-manners were on display. The lawyer on the other side frowned at him. More of a grimace, really. He put a hand on the door to make sure it didn't slam in his face and Stiles gave the man's intelligence a little more credit.

"Where's your father?" asked Jackson's dad. Mr. Whittemore kept careful note of the wolf glaring up at him.

Stiles wondered if the man's head was on screwy after all. "At work..."

"Get him on the phone," Whittemore ordered. "And go get dressed while you're doing that."

"What the hell-"

The lawyer put a cellphone in Stiles' hand. "I advised your father not to file charges-"

"Yeah, but _I_ chose to anyway," Stiles was annoyed by the response. "They're just going to try it again-"

"And there is now a bench warrant alleging fraud against you, your father, and his deputy. So until your father has an opportunity to hire counsel, I will act as your attorney to keep this from getting _worse_ ," said Whittemore. Stiles stopped moving, the cell phone in his hand dialed and ringing to his father's office line.

"Wait- fraud? Jordan didn't do anything-" Stiles' confusion wasn't helped by the lawyer snagging the phone from his hand. Whittemore caught Stiles by the shoulder and pushed him toward the stairs.

"If you can't do both at once, just go. Maybe we can get ahead of this," he said. It was another order, but Stiles didn't feel like punching the man this time. He stared.

"Go! Dress for court. You know what that looks like, right?" Whittemore asked, the tone of his voice showing dismissive sarcasm. Then his attention was on the phone. "Sheriff, I just came from the courthouse-"

Derek caught the edge of Stiles' shirt and dragged, tugging him toward the stairs. Stiles stumbled up them in his hurry, trying at the same time to pull out of his shirt. Derek charged ahead of him and disappeared. By the time Stiles hit his room, the wolf had been replaced by a half-dressed Derek who was digging in a bag looking for his own shirt.

"What- what are you doing?" Stiles wasn't sure which issue he had to deal with first: the lawyer downstairs with the bad news or the werewolf being a werewolf around a lawyer.

"I'm going with you," said Derek. "He didn't lie-"

Stiles frowned at him. "They won't let you in. You're not family."

"Not yours, but Jordan's," replied Derek. "Somebody needs to take notes. It'll be hours before his dad gets here. And the second Peter gets a hold of this-"

"Oh my god. Derek-" Stiles started to complain but stopped. He didn't have time. He started digging through the nearest pile of clothes for something resembling court-clothes. A moment later the dresser drawer slammed shut, first search coming up empty.

"I can't believe this," he said, venting more than thinking. "I just wanted them gone. The assholes put me in the freaking hospital..."

"Don't think, just move," Derek interrupted. Stiles kept looking and not finding anything, his brain fully ignoring the order not to think. Derek stepped in to help and was soon shoving clothes at him. He caught Stiles' attention when he shook his shoulder, made him look him in the eye.

"It's not as bad as it sounds. Alright? You'll be fine."

Stiles shook his head. "Fine, but my dad?" he asked. "And what about Jordan? I wanted to press charges, I made that call, not them."

"And they helped," said Derek. "So we go find out what's going on. You get dressed. I'll text Lydia and see if her mom can meet us there."

Stiles processed the decision and nodded as it settled in. "Okay. Yeah. One thing at a time."

He could do that. Without even trying, he had doomed his dad and Jordan to prison or something terrible and life-destroying, so just getting to the courthouse couldn't be that hard by comparison.

 

***


	2. Chapter 2

The day wasn't turning out so good, Jordan realized. It was hardly noon and for the first time in his life, he found himself under arrest. It was a very different experience from the other side of the cuffs. To put it mildly, there was something ominous about a coworker snapping metal bracelets on his wrists under the direct supervision of the Beacon Hills District Attorney.

"Come on... That's not necessary here," Sheriff Stilinski said. He still stood behind his desk, talked over the lawyer reading off the warrant. The DA stopped.

"Sheriff, these are serious allegations that have come forward," the lawyer said. "I find it personally concerning that you don't respect the law enough to find an investigation necessary."

"I respect the law fine. That's why I'm thinking it's a little overkill to walk the County Sheriff and one of his top ranking deputies out in handcuffs," said Stilinski. He nodded toward where Jordan stood, trying to get used to the mentioned handcuffs. "And I'm offended you think we'll uphold the law but not respect it enough to show up for a summons."

"Omega-class offense, Sheriff. There is no summons," said the District Attorney. She looked surprised that she had to spell it out. Jordan was just as unaware as the sheriff.

"I didn't take any Omega Law courses in the academy," Jordan told the DA, trying to cover for what the sheriff didn't know, too.

"There aren't any. Very few people bother with this section. But Omega-class offenses are ninety-percent bench warrants due to flight risk. Either the omega or their keeper, in cases of kidnap," said the lawyer.

"Stiles is my son! He's at home. There's been no kidnap..." The sheriff's surprised annoyance was talked over and Jordan's attention swung back to the DA.

"No, there are allegations of fraud, falsely filing paperwork to manipulate the system. There is evidence that you and your son and your deputy conspired to extort one hundred thousand dollars from a private citizen as an Omega Price. The judge wants to see all of you," she told them. "He'll decide at that point whether to pursue this as a criminal case or a civil one, depending on the complicity of the omega."

"Complicity of the omega?" Both Jordan and the sheriff spoke at once. They were facing either a private civil matter or a public outcry for the sheriff's head based only on how involved Stiles had been in the crime. Considering the only crime that had happened was against the omega, that was as ridiculous as it was scary. Jordan wanted to say something but the phone on Stilinski's desk started ringing. The man was angry and answered it despite the warning look from the DA.

"What?" The sheriff asked the phone. "I'm at work. I know..." There was a pause, surprise registered on the sheriff's face. He nodded like the person on the other end of the line could see him. "Yes, thank you. Yeah. That would be appreciated."

Curiosity caught, Jordan stared at the sheriff until he hung up the phone. Then he nodded toward Jordan even as he returned his attention to the district attorney.

"That was our lawyer. He'll meet us at the courthouse, with Stiles," the sheriff told her. "So there is no flight risk. My son will be there in a few minutes."

_Our lawyer?_ Jordan was fairly certain his family lawyer in San Francisco was not in town already, which meant the sheriff was handling it. For now, that worked. For now, Jordan was all on board with the Stilinski family. But he knew more lawyers, lawyers better than small town daydreamers, and if things got as bad as they could get, Jordan would call in his own favors on their behalf. He had thrown in his luck with the Stilinskis weeks earlier. They were family. He wasn't going to risk either of them.

 

***

 

The courthouse was busy. Lines of people waiting to log in and find out where their case would be heard, people propped up against walls across from closed court sessions, and a huge knot of people waiting for jury selection. And Jordan and the sheriff - thankfully not in their uniform shirts - were both walked through the side door by the court officers.

As it turned out, the bench warrant for omega issues was handled differently, supposedly for the benefit of the omega. Omega weren't entitled to a jury trial - their numbers were low, the argument was there was no such thing as an impartial jury of their peers - and the courts had them down to two potential categories to streamline the process. The omegas either committed the crime or the omegas had a crime committed against them and needed protection. The latter category was jumbled in with domestic issues and shuffled off to the family courts. The first option was handled quickly and quietly and by as few people as possible.

As a result, the omega cases were brought in by bench warrant rather than go through the song and dance of the formal hearing and arraignment. It was like a court hiring a bounty hunter to retrieve the errant criminals, the assumption of guilt already built in.

That wasn't something Jordan had ever experienced before, personally. He wasn't an omega, he was entitled to and used to receiving a certain level of respect in the legal world. His mother was a judge. He had grown up around lawyers and cops and courthouses. He knew without a doubt that this was not the usual way of doing things. And he knew people recognized the sheriff as they walked by the crowds under escort to get to the courtroom of the judge who had issued the warrant. The chatter slowly quieted around them and people stared. Jordan kept his shoulders stiff and head up, stared back in his usual direct manner. He looked over to see the Sheriff of Beacon Hills had chosen a similar tact, though he had set his gaze on the distant courtroom rather than bother with the people along the way.

Outside the courtroom, they found Stiles waiting with Derek and Lydia. David Whittemore stood by Stiles, caught him by the shoulder to keep him sitting down when he tried to greet them. He looked terrible, the bruises and cuts from the previous weekend still visible and accentuated more by the pale skin and too-pink cheeks that went in stripes down to his neck. He looked sick, and he looked worried. Jordan looked from Stiles to Derek for an explanation because he knew asking Stiles was just inviting trouble. The last thing they needed was for Stiles to smart off with something sarcastic in the hall outside the court.

Whittemore took offense to the handcuffs and demanded they be let loose but it had to wait until they got in the locked courtroom, just in case. Stiles (thankfully) wasn't locked up, just still in the custody of his lawyer apparently. They didn't say anything in the hall, waited until they were inside instead and the cuffs were off. They stood at the back of the room once the doors were closed and locked and it was like the handcuffs had somehow been attached to Stiles' brain because the moment the bracelets were off Jordan and his dad both, he started talking.

"This is stupid, okay? Just un-do it. Make it so we didn't do it and you didn't lie, or whatever happened, because this wasn't supposed to happen. It can't-" The ramble was quieted by the sheriff catching his son by the shoulder and pulling him into a hug.

"Just settle down, son. We'll get it sorted out," he promised. Stiles was staring at him over his dad's shoulder so Jordan nodded his agreement with the sheriff's promise. Stiles eased back from his dad only to pounce on Jordan's neck next.

"I'm so, so sorry..." he said but Jordan just shrugged it off, stared at him to be sure he understood.

"I'm not."

Stiles understood well enough because he kissed him. Jordan registered two things beyond the welcome greeting, first that Stiles was feverish and clammy, and second that their lawyer disapproved.

"Not the time-" Whittemore began. Stiles raised his left hand and Jordan reached to drag it down before Stiles flipped off their lawyer but then he noticed it wasn't the middle finger Stiles showed off. The ring was still on his left ring finger. Jordan grinned, somewhat smug, and reeled Stiles' hand in anyway just to hang on to it.

"Stiles! Focus!" Lydia hissed at them from beside Derek. Stiles eased back, moved away, only to change his mind and come back. He surprised Jordan, tucked up behind him to pull him back into a hug. He was overly warm and Jordan recognized the more tactile signs of heat. If Jordan was having a bad day, he realized Stiles was having a _miserable_ one. He let Stiles hide behind him, just closed his hand over Stiles' at his waist. He turned his attention to the surprised and yet suspicious gaze of their lawyer.

"Can you get this put off for a few days?" he asked. "My mother can come up-"

"Deputy, all I know is that there's a bench warrant for fraud and entrapment. I went to pick up the omega involved before the court appointed social worker could," said the lawyer. He looked from face to face. "So if somebody would please let me know before I embarrass myself making shit up on the other side of the bar..."

"Do you even know omega case law?" asked the sheriff.

"I know enough. I told you _this_ would happen," said Whittemore. The sheriff didn't look impressed by the reminder. Lydia caught the lawyer's arm and his attention.

"When Stiles was kidnapped, my mother took his dad and Jordan the marriage license papers to sign. That way he could be found if someone else tried to file papers-"

"So, fraud," concluded Whittemore.

"No," said Jordan. "He _showed_ _you_ the ring."

"He was single at New Years," said Whittemore.

"I've known him a year, we're fine," said Jordan. "It wasn't fraud."

Stiles kept quiet but his arms tightened around Jordan's middle. Jordan leaned back a little, experimental and testing how present he was, and Stiles braced him easily. It seemed like confirmation that he was still okay. And Stiles' dad didn't say anything or make any faces about the closeness. The lawyer looked them over, weighing it out.

"What about the money. Can he prove it?" Whittemore asked.

"The hunters have his money," said Stiles, at Jordan's shoulder. "He paid them for me. I was standing right there. I watched them do it. It's in the report."

The lawyer looked them over again. Then he looked to the sheriff. "I'll try to get things put off until I can get the report anyway. I called the station and someone from my office is faxing the request but who the hell knows if it will get here in time..."

The bailiff made a call for order at the other end of the room and Jordan stood up. Stiles didn't let go of his hand though. His dad caught Stiles by the shoulders in a quick massage as he followed them up to the bar. Their lawyer let them through the gate while Derek and Lydia stayed behind in the viewing area. Jordan took the seat he was pointed to beside Stiles and then the sheriff.

It wasn't until he looked over at Stiles in the chair beside his that Jordan saw the people sitting in the area with the other lawyers. He tracked the green eyed stare of one already familiar face to Stiles and thought very seriously about standing up again.

Jordan had enjoyed putting Kyle Carrington behind bars, but it was a short lived success because he made bail two hours later. That two hours was even pushing it because they could only claim they were understaffed and had no one to log him out for so long and when the morning shift showed up for duty they had to allow the escape. Now the man sat across from them in a courtroom, far too smug for comfort. Jordan wanted to burn the smile off the rich man's pretty face but, if he was honest, that level of anger scared him a little. It didn't mean he didn't feel it, but he was afraid enough of his own reaction that he looked away again.

If Stiles noticed the expensive suits across from them - suits that probably cost at least a month's pay for Jordan - he didn't let on. He sat in a simple buttoned shirt and slacks, not a suit, and hunched over his knees, his head just inches from resting on the table. It sounded like he was working hard at breathing. His dad leaned forward enough to rub his back, so all Jordan could do was sit watch. Make sure Carrington kept to his side of the court room and left Stiles alone.

When the judge showed up, the usual formalities passed by in a blur. Jordan wanted to speak up, wanted to explain to the judge in plain English and hard facts what had happened. But instead he had to listen to Carrington's attorney lie to Judge Wright about a broken arrangement over an Omega Price, had to let them outline a dramatic story about the conspiracy contrived between the two Stilinskis and the lowly deputy in a bid for easy money.

"My client is a wealthy businessman, Your Honor. Last month he was on the cover of _Forbes_. Very high profile," said Carrington's lawyer. Jordan had heard the man's name but he didn't bother remembering it; there were two of them and they were both paid liars. The bastard Carrington kept paid lawyers to stroke his ego and Jordan almost found that funny. He stayed quiet though as the lawyer carried on. "He was contacted by the Stilinskis through what he believed in good faith to be a legitimate broker. Instead it was an effort at entrapment. They had no intention of holding to the agreement of the Omega Price. My client has lost a considerable amount of money and, as I said, he is rather high profile. The charges filed as an effort to tarnish his name can potentially cost him more."

Sheaves of paper were produced then and passed to the bailiff to pass along to the judge. "There is the proof of the transaction. Mr. Carrington's bank records, and email communications showing the payment was accepted. Also, print outs of cell phone text message transcripts, with timestamps included, that show the meetings being arranged by the broker."

Stiles looked over at the papers, tracking their progress, and Whittemore noticed. "I'll need a copy of that," he said. Another sheaf of paper was passed along through the bailiff. Whittemore looked them over and then handed them to the sheriff. He had possibly five seconds to read before Stiles tugged them from his hands. From what Jordan could tell, Stiles was looking for something in the transcript and not finding it. He tried to get his lawyer's attention but the man sat in his chair beside the sheriff and ignored him. Stiles' frustration went up a notch but he just shoved the papers back at his dad.

"Ask them where the pictures are. They took pictures-" Stiles said aloud, quiet but enough to be heard.

"Sheriff Stilinski," said the judge suddenly. He appeared to still be looking over the papers. "Is there a problem with your son?"

"No, sir. He just has a question," the sheriff replied, careful. Stiles looked from lawyer to judge and back.

"They took pictures of me to send to him," Stiles said, louder, for the record. "They don't show them on the transcripts. Because it shows I had been in a fight and it shows I was locked up and couldn't-"

"Sheriff, has your son waived his right to counsel?" Judge Wright asked.

"No sir," said the sheriff quickly. Stiles sunk back in his chair, catching on. Jordan leaned forward so he could more easily see the others in the room. He saw Whittemore studying his notepad, the picture of composure that was slowly threatening to slip. Jordan leaned on the table and caught at Stiles' hand, made sure to stay in his view as well as the others' without potentially being rude to a judge who was apparently a stickler for the rules.

"Sheriff, please keep your son quiet. Unless the omega plans to represent himself from now on, he should allow his attorney to speak on his behalf. Or if you feel this meeting is too stressful for him I can have him sent with a deputy to wait," said the judge. Stiles' face was red from the call-out and dismissal but he nodded.

"He'll be fine," said the sheriff. "My apologies."

If Jordan knew his boss at all, the sheriff was the exact opposite of apologetic but he didn't point that out. Instead, he tuned in to Whittemore as the man pulled himself out of his own anger enough to be a lawyer again.

"Yes, Your Honor. Apologies on behalf of my client. Mr. Stilinski has had a difficult week thanks to Mr. Carrington and it happened to coincide with his heat, from all appearances. He's healing but slowly and in pain from _injuries_ sustained over the weekend. I will ask the court to allow him some consideration for such outbursts. He has a lot to say on the matter that brings us here," said Whittemore. He looked over at Carrington's table. "I believe the opposing side has contributed their evidence on the matter?"

He received a few nods.

"Can I ask what your client expects out of this hearing?" Whittemore asked the other attorneys. He looked back to the judge. "I had hardly five minutes notice of this particular case and as you've seen, I was not brought in on the documentation provided ahead of time. I am unclear what Mr. Carrington is leaving on the table."

"Mr. Carrington expects repayment, Your Honor," Carrington's lawyer informed the judge, ever helpful. "Either in full as a reversed transaction, or he expects the Stilinskis to uphold the Omega Price already accepted."

Stiles swore out loud, quiet but definitely the unruly omega once again, and he curled over his knees. Jordan already had hold of his hand and he leaned forward to try to draw his attention out. He knew about the panic attacks and the middle of court would be the last place Stiles would want to go through that. He held his hand and tucked shoulder to shoulder, his forehead to Stiles' as the sheriff and Whittemore handled the explanation to the judge of why what Carrington wanted would not be happening.

"Hey, just breathe a minute," Jordan whispered. Stiles shook his head. He was losing it, still fighting but losing. He looked surprised and his eyes were watery, hidden behind the table from the rest of the room. Jordan leaned a little closer, watched him carefully to be sure he wasn't crowding unwelcome.

"Can you hear me breathing?" he asked. Stiles hesitated and then nodded. "Then match my breath. Think about that. Nothing else. It'll be okay."

Stiles shook his head at the last but after a moment, he seemed to calm. He stared at Jordan like maybe he was listening. Jordan nodded, encouraging. Stiles seemed to catch his breath and he curled into Jordan, as close to a hug as they could get just then. Jordan kept his arm slung over Stiles' shoulder as he nudged him back to sitting upright. Stiles leaned into him and stared resolutely at the table in front of them.

"As the report I just provided the court outlines, the price was not set by either of the Stilinskis or Deputy Parrish. There are multiple witnesses to the events of that evening and none of them corroborate Mr. Carrington's story..." Whittemore was saying when Jordan tuned in to the rest of the room again. The judge was browsing a manila file folder now instead of Carrington's records and transcripts. He flipped a few pages, his face impassive, before he looked up at Whittemore.

"Your only witnesses listed here are sitting at that table, Mr. Whittemore. Given that Mr. Carrington suggests your clients lied to obtain a marriage license as well as steal a hundred thousand dollars from him, I am hardly convinced by your account," said the judge. "In the game of _he-said/she-said_ , the one with proof comes out on top. You have the word of the men whose word is being called in to question. And the four men currently awaiting bail in the sheriff's department would likely have their own version of the truth also. I certainly hope you have something else."

"Your Honor, Stiles was in the hospital within hours of meeting this man," said Whittemore. "Mr. Carrington left the boy to die in a house fire, which resulted in smoke inhalation, near asphyxiation, and that's not to mention the injuries he sustained before the fire. Bruised ribs, knife-wounds, black eye and a split lip... These are not injuries voluntarily sustained, Your Honor. They are all fully documented with the hospital and in that report. In a few weeks time we'll be able to provide the hospital bills for that particular aspect of the so-called arrangement. But for now we can ballpark the evening's activities at around five-thousand dollars in hospital bills, if the court requires financial investment as proof of a man's word given under oath in a report filed with the sheriffs' department."

"That is not-" Carrington started to speak up but his lawyer talked over him with an objection. There was nothing officially objectionable in what Whittemore said and he called them on it but the judge allowed it anyway.

"You need not malign the character of this court in an effort at making your client look good," the judge informed him. "Watch yourself, Mr. Whittemore."

Mr. Whittemore nodded but he didn't apologize that time.

"At any rate, my client was unsafe with Mr. Carrington and that is fully documented. That is not a scenario any father would voluntarily put their child through. A man twice elected as sheriff would be particularly unlikely to endanger their child for profit," said the lawyer. He pointed to where Stiles still leaned against Jordan. "And as you can see, this particular omega is spoken for. He is legally married-"

"According to the time stamp on the license, when taken alongside your report, Mr. Whittemore, the report that your clients filed with the sheriff's department about this kidnapping situation... The marriage license was filed while the omega child was with the brokers. He was not actually present to be married," the judge said, not hesitating to interrupt. He looked up for a visual confirmation before he nodded. "Right. So when you add your documentation to the text transcripts provided by Mr. Carrington, it shows an interesting timeline. The marriage filing was made after the deal was struck with the brokers. Which leads me to believe the story that Mr. Carrington acted in good faith at the time he thought he agreed to pay the Omega Price."

"We don't have the money," said Stiles' dad, quietly exhausted. "He didn't pay _us_. We went to a matchmaker, not a broker..."

"Well, the money went _somewhere_ ," said Carrington's lawyer. "So unless you're going to ask the court to believe in magic technology gremlins, little fairy people who run the bank-"

"It's not about the money," Kyle Carrington interrupted his own lawyer's mild mocking. He split his attention between the judge and Stiles, but Stiles refused to look up at anyone. Jordan glared on his behalf.

"The money is replaceable," Carrington went on. "The omega isn't. Stiles isn't. When I first saw him, I didn't know his name. But I knew he could swear and he could fight. He took on half the bar when they hassled him. But look at him! He can't even be old enough to be in a bar. No way. No way."

The whole thing went back to San Francisco. Stiles cringed into Jordan's shoulder with every word. Without thinking, Jordan shifted the way he held Stiles enough to stroke the side of his head and neck instead of his shoulder. It was something his dad would always do when he or his brothers were stressed and an automatic response for Jordan now. Stiles hunched a little more to stare at the floor even as he tucked in against his shoulder, relaxed a little against him. He looked like maybe he was trying to ignore Carrington; Jordan wished him better luck than he was having. The rich man just kept talking.

"He's got attitude and sarcasm... I paid the Omega Price and instead of seal the agreement with a kiss, he told me I'd have to buy him dinner first! He's sharp..."

 The judge seemed surprised. "Dinner? Really? If that's all it took then why pay such a high omega price?"

That one got the sheriff riled and Jordan saw Whittemore put a hand to the sheriff's arm to keep him in his chair. Jordan couldn't have because he had Stiles to worry about. Carrington didn't seem to notice.

"And then he showed up on the brokers' list and I thought - well, it was like fate, wasn't it? What are the odds I would ever meet another one like him? He's perfect," said Carrington. There was an audible huff of unamused laughter from Stiles, Whittemore and Derek at the gushing and Jordan just pressed a kiss to the top of Stiles' head. He understood at least part of what Carrington was saying, even if Stiles didn't appreciate it.

"I would have bought him dinner, too. But everything went to hell when those two showed up-" Carrington paused to point at Jordan and then Derek in the front row behind the bar. When he glanced back at Derek, Jordan was surprised to see Natalie Martin had snuck in with Detective Redgrave while he had been focused on Stiles. Now he knew where the police report copy came from. It wasn't much of a distraction from Carrington's attempt at tattling though. Stiles sat up and leaned away to see what the rich brat was talking about.

"That one set the house on fire and the other one started attacking people-"

"He didn't set the house on fire!" Stiles interrupted. He was nearly out of his seat but Jordan kept him down with a hand at his back.

"Someone set the house on fire," the judge said, correcting Stiles' outburst with a tap of his gavel. "And the report says the fire is being investigated by Sacramento. That's another matter, separate from whether or not you conspired to steal from Mr. Carrington. Now stay in your seat and be quiet or the bailiff will take you to chambers to await the verdict."

Stiles went quiet and still. Movement caught Jordan’s attention and he looked back to see Natalie stand up and approach the bar. Whittemore leaned back to meet her and she handed him more paper. He looked it over and passed it to the bailiff again.

“My clients used a matchmaker service, not the brokers, as we’ve established. That paperwork there is a record of their interaction with Ms. Martin’s company, as well as a copy of her registration and license to practice. She is fully registered with the state,” Whittemore said. He paused as the judge looked over the papers. “I would like to point out that the Stilinskis went to her services four weeks ago and Deputy Parrish went to her three weeks to the day afterward. Based on Ms. Martin’s assessment of the pair, Stiles and Jordan were matched and seeing each other days before the incidents outlined in the police report. Days before Mr. Carrington claims they set him up through a broker service. That is hardly enough time.”

“Yes, which is where the marriage license timing comes in to question,” replied the judge.

“They have known each other for a year, Your Honor. There is little reason to wonder on that kind of timing when you’re dealing with an omega in the mix. Especially one who was raised less than conventionally and attended school on the alpha track,” replied Whittemore. The impact the words had on Stiles was noticeable and frustrating. He pulled back into his own space, shoulders curled as he leaned on his knees and stared at the table. Jordan glared up at his lawyer and thought seriously about ending the entire thing by firing Whittemore and requesting more time to get his own lawyer. He guessed that wouldn’t go over well given the judge’s apparent bias against Stiles, though, and kept quiet.

“It’s fraud against the state,” countered Carrington’s lawyer. “It is not a valid marriage.”

Whittemore pointed at Stiles as he looked to the other side. “The omega wears a ring and is currently leaning on the man who signed the paperwork. How are you to determine fraud from that?”

“Based on the fact that it was paired with my client’s legitimate use of a broker for your client’s price tag,” said the attorney.

“The broker your client chose was perhaps less than _legitimate_ which makes him party to kidnapping and attempted murder, so your allegations of fraud and conspiracy are more suspect than their marriage,” replied Whittemore. “But you’ll note we’re not discussing that.”

There was a disturbing quiet from Carrington’s table. The judge seemed to actually take note of what the omega’s lawyer said that time and he set down the paperwork he had been idly looking over.

“I think that’s enough,” the man said. “I don’t want a pissing contest in my courtroom. And this is one big shit-storm on fast-approach, given the parties involved.”

Jordan huffed out a laugh at that. Considering one party was the county sheriff and one party was a Forbes magazine cover-model apparently, yeah, that was one way of looking at it.

“I’m going to side with caution. The evidence leaves question but not proof that the sheriff of our fair county would commit such egregious crimes as fraud and conspiracy to commit theft. Certainly not at the risk of his son. The boy has been a media favorite in each election, and as has been pointed out, he is a very unconventional omega,” said the judge. He shook his head. “The conspiracy allegations have no merit at this time and I will not be recommending this case move to a criminal court. I will, however agree that the timing of the marriage, and this unconventional omega’s lack of involvement in it, qualifies it as fraudulent.”

The guilty silence came from Stiles’ table that time. No matter how much Jordan wanted to argue the conclusion, he remembered too well the sheriff had been given the choice of Jordan’s signature or Lydia’s because of the tight timeline they were held to. Lydia had been first choice. He kept quiet but held his hand beside Stiles’ arm as an offer to prove them wrong. Stiles had Jordan's ring, Stiles knew he had promised. After a moment, Stiles latched on and wound his fingers with Jordan’s.

“Now I don’t want to get embroiled in the next big Omega Rights case that gets chased to the state court or higher, and there’s nothing about the legality of this case that warrants it. What I see is a family court issue. It’s just damn high profile with an omega in the middle who can’t make up his mind between what’s good for him and what he wants,” the judge continued. Stiles set his jaw and hung his head. The judge didn’t notice. He shuffled papers, handed them to the court reporter, and folded his hands like some pillar of patience. “But I believe the marriage license was a false-filing. I want that revoked as such. Another cannot be filed for a minimum of thirty days. And given that I have proof an Omega Price was paid, as part of the restitution to the party most impacted by the false claim, I recommend, well, let's call it _mediation_. An omega can hardly be expected to repay the amount of money lost to that confusion, and the Sheriff's income could hardly support that either."

Jordan lost what hope he had left for the morning then. Stiles' hand tightened around his but otherwise he seemed to stop even breathing. As a reminder, though, Jordan toyed with the ring clenched between their fingers.

"Doesn't matter," he said, quiet. "We said we were going to do things backwards anyway."

It worked, Stiles glanced over at him, so Jordan tried for a half-smile. Stiles couldn't manage it in return, though. Elbows braced on his knees, he raised their hands just enough to tuck Jordan's under his chin.

 "I don't see how community service can repay a good-faith Omega Price," said Carrington's lawyer.

"Over the next thirty days, with a chaperone on a graduated schedule, the omega will stay part-time in the care of Mr. Carrington," Judge Wright continued, purposefully ignoring the lawyer. "Given that we can't split the child in half to give both parties what they want, and Sheriff Stilinski has reasonable concerns for his son's safety with Mr. Carrington, I would like the omega to spend chaperoned time with Mr. Carrington. Mr. Carrington then has an opportunity to prove himself as a competent caregiver to an omega, beyond the loss of the apparently misplaced Omega Price."

If it was quiet before, it was silent enough to have heard a pin drop in the room after that. Even Carrington’s lawyers were stunned.

“I’m sorry, Judge Wright. Just to clarify this. Are you seriously requiring courting as restitution in this matter?” asked Whittemore.

“Mediation. They must _share_. The two parties can learn to see eye to eye on this or it goes to trial. If the plaintiff can’t prove that he can handle the boy in the time allowed, he certainly wasn’t ready to marry him and it’s on him that he chose to throw away so much money,” replied the judge.

“Sheriff Stilinski already approved the marriage between his son and Deputy Parrish,” said Whittemore. “This judgement ignores that...”

“No it doesn’t,” said Judge Wright. “Should the sheriff wish to allow it while the omega is in his care, that’s his decision. I don’t think the legal system should have to intervene on this issue at all, but since it’s been brought in, I’ll damn well do something about it. The omega can be courted by the plaintiff under order of the state or be remanded to the care of a nunnery, how’s that?”

The awkward silence after that was made more awkward by Stiles’ lawyer. “That actually wouldn’t solve anyone’s problem, as I’m sure the boy would then chase the nuns. Whole other lawsuit from that.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” interrupted Stiles’ dad. The both of them were red faced, though the sheriff looked very close to murder while Stiles looked closer to bolting for some place to hide.

The judge seemed to agree. He looked over the room in obvious disapproval. "Brokers and matchmakers are the lowest form of money-making, short of prostitution and gambling, and it's for this reason right here. Undocumented, shoddy licensing, and everything on the down-low for made-up concerns of privacy. When all you're doing is selling children, either way," the judge informed them. "And in cases like this, where there's obvious injury and not enough hard evidence to form an actual case, the court gets dragged in. We waste time and resources on a squabble better fitting Judge Judy. So, in this instance, fine, the state will play matchmaker. At the end of the month, either the plaintiff drops this ridiculous suit or the sheriff reconsiders his position on the gentleman’s agreement he apparently made and signs the boy over as promised. We’ll reconvene in a month to sort out from there if this goes to trial or not."

The gavel banged down and Stiles jumped. Jordan frowned at the table and refused to look up at the judge. The parting orders as the judge left the bench was for the omega's father to see the Omega Affairs desk before they left to set up a schedule with the plaintiff.

Jordan felt completely lost as he realized he had no part whatsoever in the schedule to be set up.

 

***


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah... so I'm being slower than I thought I was with posting this stuff. Sorry! I'll do better... remind me every once in awhile or something. ;)
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Out in the hall, away from the formal wood paneling and marble accents of the courtroom and in the bright daylight from the hallway's large windows, Stiles felt cold. In the room he had been hot, sweating under his button down shirt and messy attempt at a tie. The verdict's announcement was like ice water over all of that and he shivered as he waited for his dad and his lawyer to stop talking so they could leave. There was nothing to even talk about. He didn't know why they were there.

A tentative touch on his shoulder made Stiles jump; his mind was on the hunters - okay, so the _court_ called them _brokers_ \- and Carrington, so he reacted. A fist pulled back to land a blow.

"Woah! Stiles-" The familiar voice registered at the same time as Jordan caught his hand before it could hit him. Supernatural reflexes trumped a trauma-case. Stiles swore under his breath and tried to apologize but he couldn't get the volume control to work. He stood still and stared at Jordan, trying to sort out what he was supposed to do in those few seconds. He wanted a hug. He wanted a corner to hide in and a hug to disappear in. But he was in a courthouse and he had just been reminded in all the worst ways that he was the omega. There were rules and expectations and he was supposed to abide by them. A judge told him he had to go with the guy who tried to buy him, because the guy said he owed him money. And there was Jordan right there, not his husband anymore, so he wasn't family and there should be no improper hugging.

Too fucking bad. There were loopholes.

Jordan asked if he was okay and Stiles crossed his arms, stepped in close to lean against the deputy's chest. If _Jordan_ did the hugging, Stiles couldn't get in trouble.

He had maybe four seconds to close his eyes and pretend to hide before he sensed movement beyond the circle of Jordan's arms. Stiles opened his eyes to see Lydia had dragged Derek up to them and was prying her way under Jordan's arm to get at him. It looked like maybe she was crying and Stiles wanted to swear again. He didn't though, just let Lydia pry his arms out of the way so she could hug him. So, he hugged her, while still leaning on Jordan with his favorite deputy’s arms around the both of them. And _yes_ , as a matter of actual fact, Lydia Martin was crying and there was going to be make-up all down Stiles’ shoulder. _Awesome_. He curled into the hugs anyway. Even Derek almost got in on the hug to make it a pack affair, settling his hand on Stiles' head to mess up his messy hair. Then he just left it there, because Derek didn't actually do hugs.

"It's like a tur-duc-ken," muttered Jordan, somehow valiantly attempting a joke when everything in Stiles just wanted to break.

"I am not yard-fowl," replied Lydia with a sniffle. And it hit Stiles as funny and his ribs hurt because he didn't want to laugh so he just stood and tried not to shake. But he did smile, and Jordan kissed him on the jaw for it.

They had Lydia's mom watching over them and soon after that, Stiles' dad and Mr. Whittemore. Jordan casually eased out of Stiles' space when his dad showed up but Lydia made up for it with one arm still wrenched around Stiles' ribs like a threat she wouldn't let go. She was short, she tucked under his arm easy enough, and Stiles probably needed the help to keep standing in one place and not running for the door.

"Okay, so was he serious?" Stiles asked when he got his voice to work again. His dad looked calmer but he was still mad. That left Stiles looking to Whittemore. "Can they do that? I have to stay with him?"

The expressions on their faces didn't look promising. His lawyer just shook his head.

"Come on! I will scrub toilets with toothbrushes or something. Anything. Just not that," Stiles pressed. Whittemore looked at him with open pity.

"It will depend on how the order is written. But he was pretty clear in the verbal articulation," said the lawyer.

"It's split custody for a month," Stiles' dad reminded him. " _Chaperoned_ custody. So it’ll be you and me and the shithead."

"And your companion animal," added Derek.

"And Parrish can join us, just to really make things interesting," said Stiles' dad. Jordan clenched his jaw and looked away, toward the door of the courtroom they had just escaped. Stiles intentionally wouldn't look through the crowded hall in that direction because he knew Carrington and his lawyers were there. He just shook his head at his dad's threat. He wanted the show of force as bad as anyone, but it was conflicting with his desire to make it all go away.

"No. I screwed everything up. I’ll just go. I'll bring homework," said Stiles. He felt like he was being quiet and it was actively frustrating, but he couldn't get his voice to cooperate. There were people all around, everyone was waiting there because of him; Lydia had ditched school, his dad and Jordan had been arrested and dragged through a crowd in handcuffs... That was more than enough noise for the day. "Just make it disappear."

"I know some wild animals we could feed him to," suggested Lydia with her usual level of detachment behind a saccharine smile. Stiles wasn't sure if that was helpful. He wanted to go home.

"I called your dad," Derek said to Jordan, drawing Stiles' attention back away from the floor at his dad's feet. Then Derek was handing Jordan a cell phone. "You might want to call him with the update. He probably wants to know you're fine."

Stiles frowned at that, looked over at Jordan. Was he fine? It was his signature on the paper that the courts had just torn up. It was his ring on Stiles' finger. He wasn't leaving the courtroom bound for a jail cell but he was still one "ball and chain" lighter than when he walked in.

"Shit, your dad is gonna be so mad," Stiles realized. Jordan looked at him, brows lifted in surprised amusement.

"Have you met yours?" he asked. "I hope so. You're stuck with him as a chaperone for a month..."

Stiles felt sick to his stomach and it wasn't all because of heat. His face burned from terminal embarrassment, anger under there somewhere but slipping further out of easy reach. He was worried and it was getting worse. Lydia's mom distracted him as she tried to pry her daughter off of him.

"Stiles, go home and sleep this off, like a bad dream," she advised. "It will work out fine. Just make sure you and your father pick the schedule and try to keep it out of public spaces. The paparazzi will be all over this like flies on day-old meat. You don't want your face all over the papers."

Well, that didn't exactly leave Stiles feeling _reassured_. He really, really wanted to go for a run, but his legs felt more like finding a chair. Maybe one with wheels... Jordan could run...

"Do you want company?" Lydia asked.

"School-" her mother attempted to remind her. Lydia rolled her eyes, completely unconcerned.

"I've already been accepted. The attendance office can suck it," Lydia replied. She turned her attention back to Stiles. "We can call a pack-day... I'm thinking gratuitous amounts of pizza and ice cream."

Stiles blinked at her. It seemed slightly off, even though the offer was entirely sincere. Then it hit him. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, one more thing eating away at his brain.

"God, Lydia... It's not your fault, okay?" It was all on him. It went back to San Francisco. Every choice he made since that one didn't matter. The party was so long ago. And even that, it had been his fault for cozying up to Jackson. It wasn't like he hadn't known better. But the New Year's Eve Party was supposed to stay at New Years. It would have gone alright if Stiles hadn't punched Jackson's dad in the face and pissed him off. And now the guy was defending him in court from the impossible charge of being an irresponsible omega who didn't know the difference between what was good for him and what he wanted.

"Oh my god. I'm gonna be sick," Stiles muttered under his breath, equal parts realization and warning. Lydia didn't argue and backed up a step so she wasn't crowding, looked around to help him spot the restroom. Stiles' dad and Natalie Martin stepped aside to clear the path and instead Stiles saw Kyle Carrington headed through the crowd toward them.

 _Nope. No way. Not happening_. Stiles shook his head and backed away on instinct. He needed more space between him and the problem. Lydia started to follow but he waved her off. Derek and Jordan were next to deal with and Stiles nodded toward Carrington and his entourage.

"Somebody watch my dad," he said. That seemed a wise enough course of action, and what could honestly happen to Stiles at the county courthouse if he chose to be by himself, alone for the first time in nearly a week? He headed for the bathroom, only to detour instead to the door that let out into the parking lot.

Stiles wove between cars, looking for one that was familiar. When they left the house, Derek had followed him and his lawyer in his Toyota so Stiles knew it was around somewhere. He set out to look for it, feeling shaky and anxious. His search took him back toward the main entrance of the courthouse, in plain view of the large windows outside the courtrooms, and he found Derek's SUV. He didn't check to see if he could get inside, assuming Derek was smart enough to lock the doors. He just needed a place by himself to get his head on straight.

After two years of dealing with werewolves and all manner of supernatural creatures, Stiles couldn't remember a single time he had ever run away from a monster. He didn't. He always had back-up, either his supernaturally-inclined friends could step in and fight or Stiles could figure out how to outsmart the bad guys he knew better than to fight. And when that wasn't handy, he grabbed hold of whatever he was up against and met it face on. He had shared brain-space with a fox-demon. His first girlfriend had been a were-coyote with serious control issues that resulted in regular -accidental- blood-loss.

There was absolutely no good reason, in light of all those oddities, that Stiles should have run from some rich bastard who had to buy friends.

Except one.

Carrington wasn't just one person. He was one person backed by hunters and lawyers and police officers and judges. Every authority Stiles had ever respected in his life stood behind the rich guy who bought what and who he wanted. His dad had been arrested - _the county sheriff!_ \- and brought to the county courthouse for a hearing, because he had helped Stiles. His dad had an arrest record now, because of Stiles. And Jordan... God, what kind of crap would they have put the deputy through if they would arrest the sheriff just to make a point? Stiles was pretty sure he was _lucky_ that the only thing the judge did to Jordan was revoke a marriage license with his name on it.

That was what scared Stiles about the pansy in the expensive tailored suits with the lawyers in the pockets. What could they do with his family if he didn't stay where he was told or if he wasn't the perfect omega when he was expected to be? He knew what the perfect omega looked like now, was more aware of it than he ever wanted to be, and he knew he didn't fit. It was like Stiles' hands were tied no matter what he did. He made the choices that brought them all there. His choices sucked. And everyone was stuck with them.

"You forgot to tell your friends where you were going," said a voice from surprisingly close. Crouched against the side panel and still willing his stomach to behave, Stiles looked up to see Kyle Carrington standing at the nose of the Toyota.

Stiles actually laughed. There was nothing else to do about it. If all his choices ended up going badly, it only fit the pattern that leaving the building to get away from Carrington would mean it was Carrington who would find him first. It was just like San Francisco. Running away kept him running right into Kyle. Stiles sunk down to the ground to sit on the broken pavement rather than risk being dragged off. He kept his arms folded over his queasy stomach, his knees up as a shield.

"Can I tell you to go away or will it get somebody arrested again?" Stiles asked. The resigned laugh faded out and he squinted up at the unwanted visitor.

"If there's someone you want arrested, I can look into it," Kyle replied. He was even so bold as to sit on the running board under the car door beside Stiles. He didn't sit on the ground though, up just high enough that Stiles had to look up at him. Arrogant alpha.

"What I want is for you to leave me alone. How about you look into that instead?" Stiles said.

"Not a fan of that idea," replied Kyle. "You're an investment at this point. I don't just leave those alone. They grow better with a little attention. Yield better returns."

"Oh my god are you serious." Stiles knew the guy was serious. He just liked to pretend sometimes that humans, as a species, had evolved to the point where they were better than Kyle Carrington's efforts at arrogant-suave-charm. It always hurt to be disappointed in humanity, even when it was expected. He rolled his eyes and stared at the car in the parking spot a few feet away.

"I'm not _returning_ anything, so factor that into your financial planning," he said.

"We have a month to change your mind," said Kyle. "Which, we should really get back inside. Schedule our time as the judge ordered."

"I'm not going back in there," said Stiles.

"You can't stay out here on your own. It's dangerous-"

"Watch me," Stiles replied. The man's sarcasm burned. Stiles just glared straight ahead, refused to give the reaction Kyle was trying to get. The effort was wasted because a moment later Kyle stood up and Stiles cringed at the peripheral movement he hadn't expected. Then the man was in front of him, toes of his shoes inches from Stiles', and he was stuck against the car. Kyle crouched right there in front of him, invaded his space so their knees touched and he effectively pinned him in. Then he leaned in, rested crossed arms on Stiles' knees instead of his own.

"Look at me, Stiles," came the quiet order. There was no other place to look, so the demand was just a game, just forcing Stiles to do as he said. Alpha mind games, 101. When the order was ignored, Kyle caught him by the chin to make him obey.

"I meant what I said in there," he said. "You aren't some cookie-cutter omega and I like it. When I saw you in San Francisco-"

"Did you sic the hunters on me at the bar?" It was burning at his brain and had to be asked. Kyle nodded.

"The bar owner wouldn't let me near you and my friend knew the brokers were in the city," he replied. "That is how badly I wanted to meet you. The first night, I was willing to spend the money, even when they jacked up the price."

"You're crazy. You don't know me," said Stiles. Kyle agreed with a nod of his head.

"And I want to. Even now, after all the trouble you've caused. I want to know you, I want you to know me. That's what this whole thing has been for," Kyle told him. He loosened his grip, ran his thumb over Stiles' chin and lips instead. He stared like he wanted something but he kept up with the good-intentions talk. Like he was some misunderstood angel, falling for Stiles.

And Stiles listened because he was the very definition of a captive audience. He watched as Kyle talked, saw the handsome face and the expensive clothes that made him the smart catch for any omega that he believed he was. He was pretty but Stiles wasn't attracted to him; the whole _willingness to buy another human being_ thing put a big damper on the attractiveness. But if Stiles listened to it, Kyle would leave his dad and Jordan alone. It would take the choice away so that Stiles couldn't screw it up again.

Finally he shoved at the man leaned on his knees and in his space. "Fine. We'll go inside."

Kyle's face brightened with a smile as he pulled back. He stood and offered Stiles a hand up. Stiles went along with it. He didn't get his hand back, either, as they walked toward the front entrance of the courthouse. It felt like Kyle was keeping him on a leash that way. It wasn't the same as when Jordan held his hand. Standing in line to go through security again, Stiles didn't care. He just wanted to go home.

 

***


	4. Chapter 4

Nobody had seen Stiles sneak out the exit instead of the bathroom. They had all been more concerned with Carrington and his lawyers. Both bathrooms had been searched and Stiles' dad was arguing with a court officer about being allowed to search courtrooms when Stiles and his new escort showed up. Stiles saw it on his dad's face the moment he noticed Carrington still held his hand. He stepped around the court's security guard like he would go after Carrington but Derek caught his arm. Derek was a different kind of angry, more the kind that promised a slower death at a later date, but it was enough to keep the sheriff of Beacon Hills from killing someone in a courthouse.

"I found our runaway," said Kyle. He looked pleased with himself while still wary of the sheriff. But not concerned enough to let go of Stiles' hand. For the sake of keeping the peace, Stiles didn't fight him over it because that would just set his dad off.

"Where's Jordan?" he asked instead.

"He went outside with Lydia, to look for you," said Derek. Stiles laughed again. If he had stayed outside, Jordan would have found him.

"We can go look for him," Stiles' dad said, a hint accompanied by a raised arm to wave him away from Carrington. The rich alpha didn't loosen his hold on Stiles' hand. He wanted to meet with the clerk before parting company and the sheriff couldn't really argue with that.

"But the clock started fifteen minutes ago. This is time off our hours," the sheriff said. And he wasn't going to negotiate on that.

They spent a half hour in the clerk's office arranging the paperwork. Stiles tolerated the rich alpha in his space because he wanted to run the clock down as fast as possible. It brought him nearly an hour closer to being done with the month of atonement for the sin of fraud that he hadn't actually committed.

Dates and times were negotiated with occasional input from lawyers on requirements that would have to be met in order to be applied to the court-mandated hours. If the requirements weren't abided by, the clock didn't run down and Stiles could potentially waste an hour of his life more than necessary. It was expected that Stiles would cooperate with the alpha responsible for him at any given time, specifically including a reference to the formality of dressing well and being social, and there was a specific rule against "forgetting" to shower or otherwise ignoring physical hygiene in an attempt to submarine the whole thing. And Stiles' dad had to sign for the both of them that he understood and would enforce the rules on the problem-omega.

The entire day was one embarrassment after another, logged in on top of insult after insult. Stiles kept quiet, except to point out when Kyle's trade off and custody time choices interfered with classes or lacrosse. Kyle initially tried to interfere with both, but when he found out the college course was only a language, he backed up and just protested the sports. The sheriff let him know that Kyle's opinion on Stiles' education wasn't relevant.

"He's my kid, he's been playing lacrosse for three years. Even if he gets injured on that field, or he has a heart-attack and dies on that field, it's what he wants to do," said Stiles' dad. "And I will spend a month in my own damn jail cell for contempt of court for failure to meet your requirements before I let you interfere with that."

Carrington backed off because he saw the sheriff meant it. Stiles got to keep lacrosse again. _Bullet dodged_.

"Then I want to go to the games. We can make the exchange on those days at the games," Kyle decided. _Bullet changed trajectory like a sidewinder missile_. When his dad looked to him, uncertain how to evade, Stiles just shook his head. It was embarrassing and awkward but if he was playing, he didn't have to be near Kyle, and that was three extra hours of the month he spent on the field or with the team instead. He was the only one on the team with a stalker, and that would be hard to explain, but Stiles was counting the month in hours at this point, and keeping lacrosse at all knocked an easy twelve hours off his time.

After the dates were set, they left the Omega Affairs office to find Jordan and Derek had waited for them. Lydia had been sent back to school by her mother but Stiles figured she would track him down before long. He still didn't have a new phone and she had made it clear how much that bothered her. That worked for Stiles because, just then, Stiles didn't want tackled by a short, red headed banshee. When he saw Jordan stand up off the bench, he broke from his dad and went straight to Jordan. He wanted a hug but he wouldn't risk it around Kyle. Instead, he ducked behind Derek, his friend a willing shield, and bumped against Jordan's shoulder to take his hand. Jordan looked over at him but didn't say anything around the lawyers. He just laced their fingers and leaned close.

 

***

 

There was a panic when Stiles was gone too long. Carrington and his lawyers backed off when they saw Stiles' friends had formed a wall to keep him away. Another five minutes passed and the search parties paired off. Jordan took off with Lydia, outside, leaving the sheriff with Derek and her mom to search the family court wing and the Omega offices.

The day was one failure after another so it was no surprise that he didn't find Stiles outside. He got a text from Derek telling him to come back. The crisis was averted, even if they weren't in the clear. The situation with Stiles was still up in the air. The sheriff saw Stiles into the Omega offices and Jordan sat down on a bench with Derek to wait it out. Lydia wanted to wait with them but Natalie refused.

"Stop crowding him, Lydia. After the way today has gone, he needs some breathing room," she said. It cracked the stubborn refusal on Lydia's face. She weighed it out, finally arriving at the terrible conclusion that her mother was right. She made Derek promise to tell Stiles an entire list of things, including that he needed a new phone, before she would let her mom pull her away. Jordan kept to himself as the two women fussed.

"Jordan?" Natalie Martin caught his attention briefly away from the worry in his head. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry I dragged you into this with the paperwork. I stand by the match though and there’s still a chance. Don't let this chase you off."

"I don't plan to," said Jordan. It was an automatic, no hesitation and a shade of his usual determination. Natalie smiled at him for it. Then she and Lydia disappeared in the crowded hall. Jordan stared at his hands, concentrating on keeping them from lighting up, tried to ignore the most dangerous thoughts in his head. Derek noticed.

"Do you need to get out of here?" he asked. Jordan looked over at him and Derek nodded to his hands. "You don't need to go all firebug..."

Jordan held his hands apart quickly, careful not to touch anything but suddenly paranoid.

"I'm angry but not that angry," he said.

"He seemed okay," Derek said, rightly guessing the source of Jordan's stress. "He walked back in on his own. Carrington didn't hassle him-"

"It's not that. It's the whole thing. They scrapped the marriage license so I can't help him-"

"Nobody can, Jordan. You and his dad tried and it got you arrested for fraud. What exactly are you supposed to do with that hanging over your head?" Derek asked. "What if that hadn't been dropped? What if you and his dad were taken to actual trial for committing fraud against the state? Stiles isn't eighteen yet. He would have been remanded to the state and then signed over to the guy who could prove he paid an Omega Price. That would have been worse."

Jordan stared at Derek, jaw slack. "Are you serious?"

"It's what Whittemore was saying could happen. It's happened before. It's the gamble with the marriage license trick Natalie used," Derek told him. "Omega are invisible, Jordan. They're seen as unstable and slow and stupid. People think it's part of the syndrome."

"No they don't. My dad-"

"You know your dad. You don't know how people view him," said Derek. He shook his head, looking frustrated. "You heard the judge. He's just somebody's property to the system."

"But how are we supposed to protect him from the system? It's... The world. An entire world."

"You aren't supposed to. Unless you're going to run around protecting everyone from the world..."

That seemed a high hypocrisy from someone who had lived in a collar for a week just as an excuse not to leave Stiles unprotected from the world. Jordan called him on it. "You're the one that's been his guard-dog all week."

"I can smell the pain on that kid. He doesn't just heal like us. But he's walking and talking, in there dealing with legal bullshit. He's one of the strongest people I've ever met just for the fact that he hasn't killed anyone yet," said Derek. "He doesn't need a babysitter. He needs somebody for back-up and a wolf makes anybody else think twice before messing with him."

Jordan didn't have Derek's ability to hear when someone was lying. But he had the human one to be able to sense when a guilty man was reaching for justification.

"Can I call bullshit? Because that sounded just enough like bullshit-" Jordan's annoyed gripe was cut short when Derek's attention cut away to the crowded hall again. One of the bystanders in the cues waiting for their court appointments was Peter Hale. He stood a few feet away, watching, listening, without the slightest hint of hesitation to snoop. Jordan scowled and looked around, finding the door to the Omega Affairs office still closed, the sheriff and Stiles still locked away inside. Peter took the dismissal as an invitation and moved to lean on the wall. Peter on one side, Derek on the other, and Jordan felt like the guy in the movies with the cartoons on his shoulders.

"Nice to see the cousins getting along," said Peter, his usual nonchalant. "But just to answer your question, yes, you can call bullshit all you want. Just ask Derek what the wifi password is at the loft."

Jordan squinted at Derek even as his friend dismissed the implications Peter suggested.

Derek rolled his eyes and tried to excuse the accusation. "Stiles setup the router-"

Peter shrugged it off. "And Derek never changed the password."

"What's the password?" Jordan asked.

"Not important," replied Derek.

"So? I want to know-" Jordan didn't really want to let it go. He knew Derek counted Stiles as pack, knew that was closer than family for him. But now it bugged Jordan wondering if there was more than pack to Derek's determined guard-dogging Stiles for the past week. He wasn't going to find out because the doors of the Omega Affairs office opened then. Jordan waited long enough to be sure Stiles was among those who left before he stood. He moved toward the sheriff but stopped when he saw Carrington still followed, the lawyers a step behind them.

All the same, Stiles saw him and headed for him, edging between him and Derek to take Jordan's hand. Derek stepped forward as a shield and Stiles let Jordan lean against him. It was just a reassurance that he was there and he was okay. Stiles looked at him, like he wanted to say something but couldn't. He wasn't allowed. There were lawyers.

The sheriff stopped in front of Derek. The man radiated anger but he kept it reined in.

"You brought your car?" he asked. Derek nodded. Stiles' dad held an arm toward the exit in an open invitation. "Then get us the hell out of here."

A "please," was added on as an afterthought of formality but it wasn't necessary at all. Stiles was the first to start moving.

"Sheriff, wait," Carrington said. The polite request stopped Stiles in his tracks and he looked back at his dad. Jordan still stood between him and the rest of the group and thought about prodding Stiles toward the door in a hint to leave it all alone. He didn't though.

"What?" Stiles' dad held no patience for the man who had dragged them all into court and now wouldn't let them leave.

"I would like to apologize for the miscommunication that brought us all here. And I hope, going forward, you're willing to start fresh. We can pretend it never happened," said Kyle. The sheriff huffed out an unamused laugh.

"We can, huh?" he asked. Kyle didn't note the sarcasm.

"Yeah. I think it would be easier on Stiles if we did," he replied instead. The sheriff's effort at forced humor disappeared.

"No, what would be easier on my son is if you would crawl back under the rock you came from. He's not going to forget you put him in the hospital. And you can be damn sure I won't even try," he said.

"Will it help at all change your view of me if I offer to pay for the hospital?" asked Kyle. "The fire wasn't my fault. But that Stiles was there at all was because of me. I have no problems settling that debt."

Jordan felt Stiles' fingers clench around his at the mention of the fire. He wasn't expecting Stiles to interrupt his dad.

"Yes," he said quickly. "You can pay the hospital. Dad, let him."

That was not a good sign. Jordan started to protest just as the sheriff did, but he realized there was nothing he could interrupt it with. Stiles wasn't his responsibility and the debt wasn't his. The sheriff didn't like Stiles volunteering another five thousand being added to the hundred Kyle had already paid, but he chose not to argue. The sheriff reluctantly turned his attention back to Kyle.

"Fine. You square it up with the hospital. I promise I'll leave the taser at home for the first appointment," the sheriff said.

"Thank you," said Stiles and Kyle at the same time. That grated on Jordan's nerves more than he would ever admit and he turned to usher Stiles toward the exit again. It didn't take much of a hint. Stiles let go of his hand only long enough to shove the door open, then he latched on again and just barely kept from running toward the parking lot.

 

***

 

They stopped at Derek's car like Stiles knew where he had parked. Then, because they were alone there, Stiles wrapped his arms around Jordan's waist and buried his face against his neck. Jordan held on in return, pressed a kiss against his cheek since he could reach. The moment didn't last long. The sheriff and Derek showed up with Peter following them and Stiles jumped away like he had been burned. He crossed his arms and closed up. When he saw Peter, he visibly startled.

"Oh my god somebody let me go home," he muttered.

"That's the plan," said his dad.

"So which home?" Peter asked. His presence stalled the escape plan and they stood between the cars, the sheriff halfway to the passenger door.

"His home," he said. He leveled a hard glare over at Peter. "Same as always. You're not welcome, same as before."

"I came to offer moral support, Sheriff. I'm feeling rather attacked right now for the effort. It makes the news when the sheriff is arrested and dragged to court, and we are technically family," replied Peter. He looked to Stiles and then Derek. "Can I at least know what the verdict was?"

"We're not family," said Stiles. "They revoked the marriage license as fraud."

"At least it will only go on your record as an annulment, you'll be fine," said Peter. He shrugged it off. "Still our little pack omega then. Until the entitled rich boy figures out a new way to collect the trophy. Why the long faces?"

"Because I want to go home," said Stiles. "I have a very intense need to kill things and it's not helpful being surrounded by people who I know will heal. So we're going to leave now..."

Jordan backed it up by opening the back door of Derek's SUV. The sheriff climbed in the passenger side. Derek and Jordan waited for Peter to leave. Instead, he stood where he was, some of the false charm faded to something more sober.

"What is the likelihood that the entitled rich boy will collect our little omega?" he asked them.

"Don't know," said Derek. When Peter’s attention fell on Jordan, he just crossed his arms and kept quiet.

"Good odds then," said Peter. He looked like trouble waiting to start when he smiled. "I'll look in to things from the wild and wooly side I think."

"Leave it alone," said Derek. But Jordan was curious. He didn't say anything. Instead, he climbed in the car and Stiles hurried across the bench to let him in. He stayed back as Jordan buckled his seatbelt, then Stiles pulled his feet up onto the seat and curled up toward him. He wrapped arms around Jordan's shoulders and fell right into the hug he had jumped away from outside.

Jordan returned it, supported Stiles without pulling him into his lap. He felt the fever and the slightest shake from pain messing with Stiles' responses. And he felt the ragged breaths, the quick heartbeat, the trouble Stiles had keeping back the kind of hurt that caused his shoulders to shake. It took a moment to realize Stiles was crying. He was quiet, had buried his face in the crook of his arm, his head on Jordan's shoulder and turned away. The keen werewolf senses meant that Derek noticed and he turned in the driver's seat to be sure Stiles was alright. Jordan held Stiles a little tighter and waved him off.

"Just go home," he said. Derek nodded and turned his attention to backing out of the parking spot.

There was no way he could have known how someone else's tears would hit him. It wasn't something Jordan had thought about before. So he wasn't expecting the almost crushing wave of helplessness that hit. There wasn't anything he could do to take away what was hurting Stiles. He could barely even help. So he tried to wrap him in a bear hug, protect him how he could.

"I think, since we're starting over, doing things backwards... I should cook for you guys tonight. Double date in the dining room," said Jordan, quiet. It was the first thing his mind landed on when he went looking for a distraction to share. "I'll have to call ahead, find out what the dress code is and everything but... That should work, right? Just you, me, your dad... The McCalls probably..."

There was a slight change in Stiles' breathing, just a little deeper, longer breaths instead of the stifled hiccups. Then he said, "I thought you couldn't cook. You're a starving deputy."

"I didn't say I _could_ cook, I said I _would_ ," said Jordan. Stiles made a sound that seemed enough like a laugh to count. He was still upset, still silently crying, but he relaxed a little more against Jordan. He lifted his head to shift toward Jordan. Instead of hide in his arm, he ducked his face to hide against Jordan's neck.

The road noise of the car was the only sound. Jordan could tell when the pain eased off and the tears stopped but Stiles wasn't feeling much better for it. He tried though, pulled back and slouched under his arm to look at him without risking the hug. Leaned back in the circle of Jordan’s arms, Stiles pulled his arms down into his lap. Jordan felt anxious fingers knotting in his shirt. His attention was more focused on the brown eyes turned watery and red by the hard morning so far.

"Maybe pizza," Stiles finally allowed.

Jordan nodded. "I can do pizza."

From the front seat, the Sheriff kept tabs on them, not outright snooping, but there was just enough space in the car to let them get themselves in trouble. "Pizza sounds good."

The contribution surprised him and Stiles almost sat up. Instead he recovered, relaxed against Jordan once more and shook his head.

"You can't have any. You've exceeded your trash ration for the month," he said. His dad did not look impressed.

"The month just started."

With a shrug, Stiles seemed to give up. "Fine. Pizza."

"With the works," said his dad.

Stiles shook his head as negotiations resumed. "You get the veggie one."

Jordan had the distinct impression that the Sheriff was intentionally trying to rile Stiles. It was working. "Pepperoni. Canadian bacon. Real bacon..."

"I'm ordering it," said Stiles. Jordan tried not to look too wounded about the sass that started at his expense.

"This is a lot of work just to keep me from cooking. I swear I'm not that bad..." he said.

Stiles tugged at his shirt since his hands still tangled in it anyway. "You can still call it in. I'll tell you what to order."

The sheriff looked back at Jordan with the help of the rearview mirror. "And you'll pass along my order, too."

"No," said Stiles. The conversation actually made Jordan nervous. They were playing, gradually drawing Stiles out and away from the earlier tears that had threatened, but it promised a lot of his life would be spent playing referee between the Stilinskis. It didn't make him feel any better about it when the sheriff turned in his seat to look back at him.

"Jordan. You like your current living situation? The nice apartment? The paycheck that pays the bills..."

There was no missing the threat and, though he knew it was a joke, Jordan still picked sides on the issue. "Pepperoni and bacon sounds good, sir."

Even as Stiles scowled at him for it, Sheriff Stilinski seemed to approve.

"Attaboy," he said, attention turning back out the front windshield. Stiles balled a fist in Jordan's shirt, pulled a reproachful punch to his gut. He was relaxed, and maybe he still hurt, but at least he was playing. Jordan offered up an innocent grin as an apology. Stiles settled back against him, head on his shoulder and everything, so he didn't seem to take it personally.

 

***


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shhh... Don't tell anyone you saw me post this... It's all a figment of your imagination...
> 
> *...creeps off into the shadows again...*
> 
>  
> 
> -~*~-~*~-~*~-

The argument that Stiles needed protection from Carrington's hunters no longer held merit. The guy was working through the courts and had an excellent chance at winning what he wanted that way. He didn't need to pay hunters when he had lawyers on retainer. So when Derek and Jordan tried to stay at the house to keep watch, Stiles left and disappeared into his bedroom. He even told his dad to leave him alone and the sheriff came back downstairs looking conflicted.

"He says he's been around people since Friday and he's going to kill something if he has to deal with family telling him what to do now too," was the report.

Derek looked at Jordan with an accusatory raised eyebrow.

"What?" Jordan asked. "I didn't do anything."

"Well it's not like I told him anything. Stiles doesn't speak _wolf_ ," said Derek. "So somebody-"

"Just because he's afraid it will happen doesn't mean it already has," Stiles' dad pointed out. He shook his head at them and motioned toward the door. He offered Derek an apologetic smile. "We need a ride back to the station if you're not busy."

The request was accented by Stiles' stereo in his room going up to ridiculous levels. The werewolf cringed and nodded. They started toward the door but stopped when Derek heard something under the blaring Rise Against. Jordan looked toward the stairs and stumbled back, surprised to see a big black Raven at the foot of them, staring at him. He blinked and the bird disappeared.

"Shit," he muttered. He checked his arms to be sure there were no other weird traits making an appearance. Just the bird. And then Stiles pounced down the steps.

"Go away," he informed them. There was no heat to it, it was more of an encouragement since he saw them all in the foyer anyway. All the same, he wove between Derek and his dad and caught Jordan in a sneaky hug. It was a surprise and Jordan hardly had time to return it before Stiles pressed a quick kiss to his lips and then stepped away. "Be gone. Good bye. So long. Farewell."

And he disappeared into the kitchen to tear apart cupboards in search of food. Jordan blinked at the doorway. He recognized a dismissal when he got one but the kiss-off that went along with it happened right in front of Stiles' father who happened to also be Jordan's boss. On the heels of the morning from hell, Jordan wasn't quite certain Stiles wasn't trying to get him killed. It was probably something they should talk about, but now was a very bad time. Sheriff Stilinski held the front door for him and Jordan hurried to catch up to Derek.

"How's the whole courting thing working out for you?" Derek asked as Jordan fell into step with him at the driveway.

"Backwards," Jordan replied.

"Sounds like Stiles," said Derek. When they got to the car, Jordan took the backseat again. The sheriff showed up to take shotgun just as Derek's cellphone rang. After checking the caller ID, Derek looked back at Jordan in the rear view.

"You didn't call your dad, did you?"

"When have I had time? We got lunch after the courthouse and my phone is at the station..."

Derek didn't bother replying and instead answered the phone. Jordan mocked him from the back, adding a quiet " _Hale's taxi service..._ " to Derek's gruff " _hello_." He stared out the window, wanting to be back inside the house instead of in the car to eavesdrop on Derek's phone calls.

"Yeah, that was - no, they're right here. At the Stilinskis'. Do you want to- you're _where?_ " Derek kept getting talked over because his replies were starts and stops and stunned silence. Because he had no problem hearing anything at all, he kept his phone too low for Jordan to hear the other side so he still had no clue what was going on. It seemed to annoy Derek but he kept that in check with his usual grace. It wasn't like the windshield could shatter from a glare; he wouldn't try that with his own car anyway. Seconds later he was off the phone, resigned to some fate prescribed by the caller. Jordan guessed it wasn't Scott and he knew Peter would have been a longer, more frustrating conversation, and there was no actual way that Derek and his dad were on casual-phone-call terms. So he was curious. Derek looked back at him in the mirror again.

"That was JT," he said.

"You're not serious." Jordan realized he had massively underestimated his dad's dedication to his son's life in Beacon Hills.

"He and your mom are about two minutes away. From _here_ ," said Derek.

"What? How does he know where they live?"

"He was here this weekend, helped out with Stiles," said the sheriff. He looked back at Jordan. "So it sounds like you have the afternoon off."

"Now I don't want it," muttered Jordan. He reached forward and tapped at Derek's shoulder. "Let me call him. Send them home... Something."

Derek passed it back but didn't seem very convinced that Jordan could turn them around. "Just go to the station. I can send them to my place from there," Jordan said. Derek confirmed it with the sheriff, who simply shrugged acceptance of it, before he listened.

A very frustrated Jordan Parrish listened to his father's cell phone ring through to voicemail.

 

***

 

There was a very loud voice in the back of Stiles' head that told him to ignore the door. The door was always bad news. He didn't need more bad news. He needed a second lunch. He was also a big fan of anything bloody and gory and destructive, bonus points if rich bastards were involved. GTA was looking like his best friend. But the stupid doorbell kept ringing. The stereo in his room was too loud for him to pretend no one was home.

Damnit.

In light of recent events, and that fact that his babysitters had all left literally five minutes earlier, Stiles had a bat in his hand at his side when he opened the door. The first face he saw was a kid a few years younger than him, maybe he was a freshman but that was pushing it, and Stiles felt confident he could take him down if he had to. (That thought was followed shortly thereafter by the realization that he was one messed up individual because nobody sane answered their door to assess whether or not they could take down their visitor with a baseball bat.) The kid was accompanied by a blonde lady who dressed better than Lydia, if Lydia dressed like a lawyer. Then, finally, Stiles came to a familiar face. And he almost swore out loud because he did not want to know why Jordan's dad was on his doorstep with potential family members.

"Uh. Hello..." He was nothing if not graceful under pressure. "Jordan's not here."

"Derek said they were," said JT Parrish. He frowned in at Stiles. "Are you okay? What happened at the courthouse this morning?"

Stiles was stuck. He floundered for how to explain when he didn't know two of the people asking and he knew they were judging the hell out of him already. "I, uh..."

"Stiles? Can we come in? I'll call Jordan back and track him down..." JT asked. He must have picked up on the indecision because it felt like he was offering an escape route. Stiles nodded and held the door open. He stood aside as JT ushered in his family. Stiles realized belatedly that he still held the bat, just as JT noticed it too.

"You don't need the bat, sweetie," said the lady. Who had apparently also noticed the bat tucked behind Stiles' leg. "I'm sorry we scared you."

Stiles leaned the bat behind the door again once it was closed. Now Jordan's family thought he was going to take a bat to their heads. _Awesome_.

"So, Stiles... This is Jordan's mom Lilah. And his younger brother Grayson. And I'm going to set them up in the den so Lilah can call Jordan, alright? Then I'll meet you in the kitchen?" JT's suggestion sounded like the best plan, so Stiles nodded. He waited until they made their way to the living room before he bolted upstairs to turn off his radio. He ditched the tie from court because he felt strangled. Then it was back down stairs to the kitchen. JT was waiting and Stiles didn't bother to wait for the questions.

"I'm- I don't know what to say to them. I don't know what anybody knows..." he began.

"You know me so just start there," said JT. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just freakin’ strangled and smothered and some stranger's _investment_ now-" Stiles paused to breathe before JT had to remind him to do it. "The judge said the marriage license was fraud. So I'm supposed to go along with mediation for it. Which means my dad has to split custody. With the guy who _sicced the hunters on me._ "

He hadn't meant to say that out loud but there it was. It wasn't like JT wanted to hear about it, since they weren't even family anymore. The man didn't look happy about it.

"What about Jordan?" he asked. Stiles shrugged, studied the kitchen counter next to him.

"He's fine. The judge blamed Dad."

JT waited for some extra answer and the quiet dragged for a moment. Finally Jordan's dad clarified it with, "What about you _and_ Jordan?"

Stiles didn't know how to answer. "We do things backwards. We're good. I think. I just don't want to get him in more trouble."

"Get him in trouble," said JT. "He's a big boy. He can take it."

Stiles let out a snort. "Why exactly are you _here_ again?"

It was dismissed with a wave. "His lawyer's in the den. She thought she might be useful."

Stiles shook his head. He started talking without really thinking about it because JT was like him. JT would get it. And he was almost family, at least he had been for a few days. "The judge said Jordan's name maybe once the whole time. The text message transcripts from the brokers happened before the paperwork was filed with the courts so it looked like we were just trying to scam the rich guy. He can prove he paid money, we can't prove it didn't go to us. It was all on me. Except it wasn't, because I'm just the omega, so it was all on my dad, which was _such_ a _disappointment_ because the sheriff used a broker _and_ a matchmaker _both_ to sell off his kid-"

"On second thought, Lilah probably couldn't have helped because she tends to lose her temper on certain issues. Namely _that_ one," said JT. "Licensed matchmakers are good at what they do. Brokers are just traffickers. The court should never side with brokers."

"Well they did," said Stiles. He was standing in the kitchen, stressed and maxed out, and realized that he was hungry again. What the actual hell. He was usually starting to get back to normal three days in on heat. Was he seriously going to have another three days of this shit? He was reminded of his strong urge to kill things and started cleaning the kitchen rather than find food.

JT didn't want to let it go though so Stiles had to explain what he meant about split custody. He didn't agree with it at all, but that wasn't really a surprise. He was an omega. The possibility was probably terrifying considering JT was married; what other legal loopholes could be found to remove an omega from their family if a court would side with the broker instead of a parent?

"But it's a few hours a week with the man," JT finally said. He seemed to be attempting to find the positive spin. "The judge didn't turn you over to him. You still have Jordan, whether the state wants to recognize it or not."

"Yeah but the judge could have done worse," said Stiles. "He could have sent me to live with _that_ full time, he could have thrown my dad in jail, he probably _guaranteed_ my dad will lose his job... He just had them arrested. They were at work!"

The volume inched up with every word. Stiles had to stop loading the dishwasher because he nearly broke a plate. JT stood a few feet away, arms crossed and jaw set. The expression on his face was grim acceptance. He already knew the song even though Stiles was only just learning the chorus. It was exhausting.

"And what happens in thirty days, huh? I don't get to go on _dates_. It's called _courting_. It's expected to go somewhere," said Stiles. "The judge actually said I'm a stupid omega who doesn't know the difference between what I want and what's good for me. I gotta go back in a month and he's gonna tell me what's good for me is the jerk who had me taken from school and locked up in a house that burned down. He has money so that's what's good for me. And if it’s not, dad’s gotta deal with the fraud case all over again."

Stiles had all the horror stories in his head. He could have outlined every one of them for JT, given every reason why life wasn't fair and why he wanted to rewind time two months. If he went back all the way before Christmas then he would so disrupt the space-time continuum that the New Years party would never have happened and he would still be living with his head in the sand over in the alphas' playgrounds instead of stuck dealing with a judge who hated him for existing and a creep stalker who had his face on a magazine somewhere.

JT looked like he would have listened if Stiles wanted to get into it. He wouldn't tell him it was going to be okay because he knew it wasn't. All the horror stories were true. They just hadn't happened to Stiles yet. So he didn't say them. He just went back to finishing the dishes. Then he realized what he was doing and stopped moving entirely. Stiles stared at the cupboard full of clean plates and just didn't move. He didn't know where to move or what to do or why to bother in the first place if everything he did was just going to leave him standing in somebody else's kitchen, doing the dishes for them. The kitchen sat in quiet and Stiles didn't know how long it stretched out.

"Stiles?" JT asked, his tone careful. "Why are you by yourself right now?"

It was a loaded question and Stiles figured he had to find a way to chill if he was worrying JT. He closed the dishwasher door and turned away from it, arms tucked in over his ribs as he slouched against the counter edge.

"Because between Derek and my dad I have had somebody in my face for a week and I can't think," said Stiles.

"Maybe thinking isn't the best plan right now anyway," said JT. "Tomorrow is out of your hands. You definitely don't know what will happen in a month. Stop spinning in circles thinking on it."

Given that he had literally kicked his own dad out of the house for wanting to stick around to pass out the fatherly advice, Stiles gave JT a flat glare. The man sighed.

"Okay. Fine. How about we talk about what you said before. They won't get out of your face, you said you were being smothered-"

"Derek literally hasn't left me alone since Monday..."

"Do you know why?"

"Yeah, because they're overprotective idiots and nobody thinks an omega can handle themselves after the bad guys win-"

"Wrong," said JT, interrupting the mild rant. It caught Stiles' attention. "You're in distress. Actual _physical_ distress. And there's a very good chance that's messing with them the same way withdrawal messed with you."

Stiles was torn between dismissing it as irrelevant and perking up to listen. It sounded like JT was making stuff up. "Not following."

JT nodded like he expected as much. "As Omega, we can become chemically dependent on our friends and family. When we're around them, we get the endorphin rush. When we lose them, we get the opposite effect, total scorched-earth burn-out. We go numb to the rush and it screws up everything. That's what you're going through right now, without even considering the stuff with the court."

That wasn't news and Stiles nodded to move it along. "But that's me, not my babysitters."

"Right," agreed JT. "But while you're in distress like that? It's screwed up your system. It changes your scent, everything you are hard-wired to do for survival changes pattern and alphas pick up on that, a lot of them do. And if they know you? They're reacting to the unconscious loss the same way you react to withdrawal."

"What?"

"Pheromones, Stiles. It's like an extra sense, something under scent that every human being works with. An omega's generally triggers the warm-fuzzy feelings for sensitive alphas. They get used to it. So when you or I hit withdrawal, our system changes, and the warm-fuzzy read people get from us is more like _panic_. They miss it the same way we do."

There was nothing about what JT said that didn't make sense to Stiles. Withdrawal was just another survival mode for omega because they couldn't survive without a community. Community was a two-way street though; it wasn't enough for an omega to be addicted to their family. If the social group wasn't just as invested, it wouldn't do them any good. Evolution was a sneaky bastard.

"So Derek's my guard dog - actual guard dog - because I'm sick and it's making him sick?" he asked. JT shrugged and nodded.

"In simplified terms, sure," he said. "Don’t look at it like they’ve decided you can't handle it."

"It's because _he_ can't," said Stiles. He almost laughed. "So my omega milkshake really does bring all the alphas to the yard."

JT didn't seem to catch the reference and Stiles waved it off. Jordan's dad went with it and left it alone. He didn't drop the subject though.

"So I get the bloodlust at the moment. But you're hurting yourself and you're not helping the others," he said, getting to the point behind his science lesson. "You don't have to be in the same room maybe, but banishing the guard dogs right now is probably not the best idea."

He was very carefully not telling Stiles what to do. The effort was noticed and appreciated but Stiles still felt stuck. "Guard dog drove them to the station," Stiles finally said.

"Do you want to ride there with us?" JT asked. Stiles looked at him, surprised by the reminder that there were people somewhere else in his house probably snooping. For reasons probably relating to self-preservation he had completely blanked on the existence of Jordan's mom and little brother.

"No. Nuh-uh," he said quickly. He saw that JT didn't like the answer and shook his head. "Just send somebody back when you get there. They're all, like, _rabid_ right now. Somebody will." Probably Derek. The whole week-as-a-dog thing kind of made Stiles think the werewolf was reacting to him different than the other two. The middle ground seemed to work for JT.

"You're alright by yourself for now?" he asked.

"I'm fi-"

"Tell me you're _fine_ and I will go get my wife and son and make you actually talk to the in-laws," JT interrupted to warn. Stiles' jaw clicked shut. JT waited, eyebrow raised.

"Not actually in-laws," Stiles finally said, testing.

"Not actually giving a shit what a judge said," JT replied. "When you and Jordan want to clear it up, I'll listen. But I have no problems telling a judge to go to hell. My wife's a judge. Ask her what my answer is when she tells me to clean my garage."

The opinion surprised Stiles and for a moment he could only stare. Words actually disappeared from his mental vocabulary and there was nothing he could do about it. JT didn't seem to mind.

"You and Jordan, together, on your own, with no assistance from any judge, decided to give things a shot. So that's what you two wanted. That's family," he continued. "So if you want the poor sheriff's deputy, you keep him. And his family. Or you give the rich guy a shot-"

"Not even," Stiles interrupted, not letting that thought be completed. JT didn't miss a beat.

"Then forget the judge. Jordan can have his brother photoshop a marriage certificate if you want. But don't worry about getting him in trouble. The whole idea is to have somebody to watch your back. If you're going to get in trouble, you do it together to make it worthwhile."

"I don't _want_ to get in trouble, for once," Stiles replied.

"Are you in trouble anyway?" asked JT. "Is this all exactly perfect and how you want it to be?"

"No."

"Has it ever been?"

"Not lately."

"Then get Jordan in trouble all you want, because this is what you have now, so he can either help you out or he can stand around waiting for some definition of perfect timing that isn't statistically likely to ever happen," said JT. "How much do you want to miss out on?"

Stiles didn't want to miss out on anything because of some hunters and a judge. He was going to waste thirty days of his life as it was. "But we already know Carrington's a control-freak, and I'm this investment he keeps sinking money in on. He could go after Jordan and then-"

"And then Jordan's mom would see the rich bastard gutted and skewered on a pike in a very public trial if he tried," said JT. "Alpha-on-alpha challenges are easier to win."

As he thought it over, Stiles gingerly started putting dishes away again. "So it's okay if I still see Jordan. We do things backwards again like he said."

JT nodded. "You're a good kid, Stiles. I've raised three so far, so I know them when I see them. And I know my kid doesn't go into this stuff lightly. The first time he had a one-night-stand he called his mother, in a panic because he thought he had broken the poor girl's heart. It was a hook up in a bar and he had to be convinced that was okay. So I think he means it with you. You're the only one who can find that out though."

There was a rush of jealousy at the mention of a hook up in a bar. Maybe there was more than one, from the way JT said it. Stiles was sure he wasn't supposed to get hung up on the bar story, but he did. He crossed his arms, scowled at the floor.

Then he realized what he was doing. He felt territorial and offended and he actually had to _laugh_. Some one-night-stand in a bar wasn't a threat. It was simple jealousy and Stiles was aware enough that he stood for a moment, just experiencing it. He used to do that a lot with Lydia, felt it whenever she was around her boyfriends, or Scott with either Allison or Kira, and he had felt it so bad when he walked in on Derek and Braeden at the loft. That was important to him, it meant he was in over his head and hadn't even noticed. He was going to look for Jordan in a crowd, whether the court wanted him to or not.

It wasn't something Stiles had noticed about himself before. It answered the hesitance about how to handle Jordan around a month stuck sharing chaperoned living space with Kyle Carrington. He would handle it best by handling as much of Jordan as he could get away with, as often as possible. Nobody told Stiles who was or wasn't his to fight for. Jordan was his and he was in too far to just pretend otherwise because of a jerk with a bank account.

"No, I think we're good," said Stiles. He fidgeted with his ring. "He didn't go anywhere when the judge had him dragged into court. He'll help."

"Attaboy," said JT, even a smile to add to the encouragement. The guy reminded Stiles suddenly of his dad. Stiles' need to kill digital avatars online or on the TV traded off for his need to be around his people, his family and friends.

"Uh. Look... My dad hid the keys to my jeep. If... I mean, can I hitch a ride to the station? I can stay there for a few hours so they can work..."

The quiet answer was a relieved sort of smile from JT.

***


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise it's not dead! I just had to take time off to deal with a Carrington of my own, so I'm slowly getting my feet back under me. <3 and hugs to everybody, and technologykilledreality especially for the patience.
> 
> ****

Fifteen minutes after they had left the Stilinski's house, Jordan sat at his desk in a half-buttoned uniform shirt again. He hadn't worn it in to the courthouse, he and the sheriff both going in just their t-shirts and BDUs to avoid making a huge scene. It had made a big enough scene that there were reporters waiting outside the station. The sheriff had Derek drive them to the back gate, and the desk clerks were filtering any calls or interview requests so that they didn't have to deal with it.

The phone call Jordan wanted didn't come through. He had a dozen voicemails on his cell phone between his dad and mom and his brother back east. His parents hadn't answered him when he called them on Derek's phone and they hadn't called him back yet on either his line or Derek's. Their phones were off. They were always off when they were driving, because they were law abiding citizens and all that, but it was so annoying at the moment.

A half an hour after he left Stiles at his house, Jordan's cell finally rang. It was sitting on his desk in easy sight, next to the case files he was staring at more than doing anything with. His head wasn't at work. He needed to be somewhere else. The phone gave him the chance. He stood up to answer it and walked to the file room.

"Mom? Where are you?" he asked, quiet but urgent.

"Stiles is adorable. He needs a hug. He answered the door with a bat, honey. You've got a long haul ahead of you," said his mom. She was talking hushed the same way he was, but marginally less stressed.

"Why- I told you to meet me at the station. Why didn't you guys turn your phones on? Oh my god..."

"Calm thyself, Jordan. Your brother and I are leaving him alone. We're trying not to scare him off-"

"Seriously, Jay? How is nerd your type?" came his little brother's voice in the background. "Have you seen their DVD collection? Nerd."

"Probably more like geek than nerd and would you stop snooping? Mom! Make Gray sit in the car," said Jordan. "And don't let him talk."

"Calm down. Your father is talking to Stiles. They aren't going to hear him," said his mom.

"I don't care. Stiles was ready to kill people when we left-"

"Yes, your father is trying to talk him off that ledge at the moment," said Lilah, her humor gone. "From the sounds of it, it might be lucky we came here first."

"What? Why? Stiles was fine-"

"Dad thinks otherwise," said his mom. "So we will go find you once he's satisfied Stiles is okay."

"He is okay. He's stressed," said Jordan. "He'll be better in a few days when things aren't so up in the air."

"Maybe. But your dad has been where he is before, Jordan. He's worried about different things than you are."

"I'm worried about Stiles," said Jordan. He didn't understand what his mom meant and she didn't want to explain it on the phone. His frustration with her only notched higher when she declined his offer to go back and get them. Jordan realized he was shit at protecting Stiles if he couldn't even save him from his parents and little brother.

"I'm going to go get you guys," he finally decided.

"That's up to you," his mom replied, "But it sounds like your dad just talked Stiles into going to the station. So I guess one of the three of you better make up our minds."

So Jordan stayed out of it, let his dad relocate them rather than ask the sheriff's permission to go back to his house. The lines between work and home were blurred beyond recognition and it was a kind of _awkward_ he didn't want to deal with just then. It was easier to let them do what they wanted and then kill them for it later than argue about it on the phone in the file room.

Ten minutes later, there was a commotion out in the lobby. Jordan didn't think anything about it until the sheriff's phone rang in on the intercom and a moment later the man ran from his office. Then Jordan realized the error in his earlier logic.

"Stiles..." he said.

"Stiles," the sheriff confirmed. Jordan chased after him. He hadn't been thinking when he hung up with his mom, he should have told them to come in the back gate. Beacon Hills had three TV News stations and two newspapers, and all five had sent journalists to pounce on the sheriff after court that morning. Stiles was just as recognizable a target.

He was also pissed off and cornered, so when Jordan and the sheriff made it out of the lobby and to the parking lot, they found a fight. Stiles was in a shoving match with a photographer and JT and three others were involved somehow, but it was hard to tell who was trying to stop it and who was egging it on.

"Okay! Next idiot to touch my kid gets booked!" The Sheriff of Beacon Hills didn't make the threat lightly. The two sides parted enough to form a walkway and JT still had to hold Stiles back from getting in the face of the newspaper photog. Jordan spotted his mother a few feet away, a vice grip on his little brother's arm to keep him from joining in. He left them to themselves and honed in on Stiles. The sheriff moved to be a physical barrier between Stiles and his harasser.

"Somebody want to tell me what happened?" the sheriff asked.

"The kid went after my camera," said the photographer.

"Yeah, because I didn't want it in my _face_ ," returned Stiles. The photographer held up an ID badge on a lanyard around his neck.

"Free press!"

"Free press photographing a private citizen," returned the sheriff. "An underaged omega."

"Is that why the court issued a bench warrant for you and your deputy this morning?" asked the journalist. "Because he's underage?"

"Oh that's bull-" Stiles reacted to the implication about as expected and Jordan had just enough time to get ahead of it. As Stiles jumped toward the journalist again, Jordan caught him around the ribs and pushed him back, all but picking him up to haul him off. The tackle-hug wasn't appreciated but Stiles recognized him and didn't argue with it. He let Jordan and JT herd him to the lobby and didn't try to go back out. Grayson followed them a moment later while a glance outside showed that Jordan's mom had stepped up to help the sheriff out of the impromptu press-conference on the front sidewalk. Rather than wait for it to leak into the lobby, Jordan kept his family moving past the front desk.

"I thought you were killing things," said Jordan.

"Well I was and then the in-laws showed up," said Stiles. "So I thought I'd start trouble instead. Because I'm good at that."

There was no missing the frustration under the sarcasm. Or the part where Stiles called them in-laws. And Grayson didn't look at him funny for it. It was a terrible time to smile but Jordan caught himself at it anyway.

"Thank you for not killing the in-laws," he said. He stepped back into Stiles' space as they headed for Stiles' dad's office. Stiles looked over at him, then past Jordan to JT and Grayson. His lips quirked up in a grin.

"They're alright," he said. "It could be cool to have a little brother who doesn't think I'm a freak."

"Because he is one," chimed in Jordan, entirely for Grayson's benefit. The thirteen year old jumped forward and swiped at the back of Jordan's head for it, sparking an impromptu wrestling match in the walkway between desks outside the sheriff's office.

"In case you missed the memo, fighting is frowned upon in this establishment," said Stiles as he stepped in to pull Jordan toward the office again.

"Gray, you know better than to assault an officer of the law," added JT. "What if he arrested you for it? That's the last thing we need."

Jordan grinned at his little brother's offended expression and let himself be steered away. Somehow he was suddenly at the front of the group and leading the way, with Stiles' arms wrapped around in a hug from behind to push him along. The afternoon was just as surreal as the morning had been but Jordan was starting to like it.

***

The promised dinner of pizza and soda actually happened that night, a little later so that the _employed_ interested parties could finish their shifts rather than drag them out early again. That meant Scott showed up with his mom. Stiles' dad was already home by then and had helped clean the place up to accommodate the crazy number of people. Jordan showed up with pizza _and_ his family.

The family included Derek, officially and unofficially, and Stiles was in a weird space about that; his cousin-in-law was still hot, _damnit_. There was a special place in hell reserved for Peter Hale just for calling Stiles out on that because now it would never leave his mind. Stiles' life was undeniably easier when Derek was a dog. He refused to go four-legged around Jordan's family though. He was concerned about the questions they would ask that he didn't want to answer. Stiles agreed with the logic but that didn't keep him from missing the wolf-form. Jordan was bad enough, but both of them in the same place, when Stiles was momentarily happy and safe, was just cruel. The number one reason that heats sucked was that everything hot was unignorable levels of hot and Stiles' cheeks were doomed to be bright pink all night because of stupid Hale family genetics. The only way it could have been more uncomfortable was if Lydia showed up, but she and Scott were still patching things up so she thankfully rain-checked.

Because of his mood, Stiles followed Jordan around like a puppy. He wanted attention but he knew better than to steal it with their parents around. Kidnapping Jordan to his bedroom was also a bad plan. Shared space was the best alternative. And pizza. He occupied his hands with pizza and didn't take risks like talking to Jordan and looking at him at the same time. He had a system. It worked.

And then Scott noticed. Which meant the system didn't work as well as he thought. _Oops_.

"Dude. What are you doing?" Scott asked. He tugged him out of the dining room, away from people, and Stiles got a little paranoid.

"What did I do?" he asked, because he really wanted to know.

"It looks like with five minutes and a box of condoms, you'd be doing Deputy Parrish," said Scott on a whisper. Stiles choked on his pizza. Scott thumped him on the back and saved his life, which was a good thing because those were not the last words he wanted to hear before shuffling off the old mortal coil. He would prefer it have more of a past-tense than the future-perfect, just for starters. Doing things was an experience Stiles wanted to actually have before choking on pizza; pizza was the enemy of the moment. He coughed through it, shaking his head.

 "I can't. There's people here. I actually have boundaries," said Stiles. "If the place cleared out, I would _not_ be opposed, but there's, like, family here..."

"He works with your dad!"

"Really? I guess I missed that-"

"Stiles!"

"Scott!"

They were whispering at each other in the whisper-equivalent of yelling, though Scott was concerned and Stiles was just amused. His friend was observant and yet apparently dense and Stiles was curious how much he could get away with.

"I thought you said you had an escort?" asked Scott.

"I do. Well, I mean, I did. The judge didn't like that..."

"You said the judge said you lied," said Scott.

"Fraud is actually worse than lying. It's an active deception. Like, a lie with action behind it that's _also_ a lie-"

"Seriously, Stiles?" Scott wasn't connecting the dots and Stiles just grinned about it. When his friend shoved his shoulder, Stiles figured he was being enough of a brat.

" _Jordan's_ the guy, Scott. We kinda skipped the whole courting thing and went straight to married and the judge today said that didn't count. That's what the fraud was," he said.

"It was because of the hunters though. It wasn't really-" Scott seemed to catch on off the look on Stiles' face at that. "Are you _kidding_? Deputy Parrish?"

"His name is _Jordan_ ," said Stiles. "And come on, man. You're the one who was worried I was going to jump the guy in public. Do the math."

"Holy _crap_." Scott seemed shocked and Stiles wasn't sure if he should be offended or not.

"What?"

"I just didn't figure you'd get _married_ before me," said Scott.

"Omega..." Stiles reminded him.

"Yeah, but _you're_ still a virgin," replied Scott. He really went there. He was grinning like a little shit, too. Stiles grabbed the empty pizza box off the kitchen counter nearby and tried to drag it over his friend's head. Stupid werewolf reflexes had Scott halfway across the room by the time Stiles had the box in hand so it became a frisbee instead and was just as easily caught. Scott was smug about it as he folded up the box to shove in the garbage can.

"Like I said, the judge called it a fraud, so I'm not married, so still virgin, because omega. I'd like to graduate high school _without_ a baby to deal with," Stiles told him as Scott risked creeping back toward his side of the room. "Which is not something you have to worry about so keep your jiggalo tendencies to yourself. Jerk."

Scott's self-satisfied grin faded. "Wait. You were married, and now you're not? Because of a judge?"

"Right. And I have to be friends with the rich guy who hired the hunters," said Stiles. " _Also_ court-mandated."

"That's bull-"

"Tell me about it." Stiles shook his head. "On second thought, don't. I'm in a good mood and I'm just going to ignore the judge and Kyle and all of it. I'm going with Jordan whether they like it or not."

"That's still weird," Scott informed him. He was trying to work back into the teasing from earlier. "Also, he could set you on _fire_. Did you really think this through?"

"I'm planning on a lot of shower sex," Stiles replied with a roll of his eyes. "Keep the extinguisher right there and handy."

"All the things I did not need to know, man," said Scott. He looked actually horrified for a second, much to Stiles' satisfaction. He shrugged.

"You went there first, don't blame me," Stiles said. "So can I go back to stalking my ex-husband or do we break out the birds and the bees chat? You may have the experience points on that but I can promise you that I have done _far_ more research-"

"Oh my god. You are terrible," grumbled Scott. He held his hands over his ears for good measure. Stiles stared at him, patently unimpressed.

"You have known me for actual years and you're just coming to this conclusion now?" he asked.

"No, I've always known, but sometimes you need reminded," said Scott. He looked like he wanted to spew essays to the terribleness of Stiles Stilinski but his mom showed up around the corner to beat him to it. Melissa McCall smirked in at them, arms crossed as she leaned on the wall just inside the door.

"You forgot to tell Jordan where you were going," she informed them. "I have never seen that man so confused. It's like he can't tell if he should be tracking you down or keeping his parents from talking to your dad."

Stiles looked from Melissa to Scott.

"That would be my cue," he said.

"To what?" Scott asked. "There's _family_. You have to _behave_."

"A lot of things can be done without getting busted," Stiles informed his friend, much to Scott's surprise and Melissa's suspicion. Just to make them wonder, he left it at that and hurried to the den before Scott could catch him to pry out more details.

***

 

Stiles was a very hands-on guy. He was very tactile. He was very impulsive. Surrounded by family, Jordan wasn't sure what to do with that. It was very much the opposite of expected omega behavior but for some reason matched everything Jordan knew of Stiles and wasn't a surprise. If he was honest, he liked it. A lot. Jordan missed it when Stiles disappeared for a little while, he said to talk to Scott, and he actually fidgeted trying not to hunt Stiles down when he was gone. Jordan had to stick his hands in his pockets and dig really deep pretending to be interested in the small talk between his parents and his boss. When Stiles got back, he sat down close, smiling from ear to ear like he had done something someone was going to yell at him for. He started to ask what had happened but his attention was caught instead by the realization that he and Stiles were already being talked about again. This time it was his mom, asking about the matchmaker and that whole process because she couldn't see her son sitting still for the interview stage suddenly. Jordan felt his ears go pink and Stiles scrunched his nose at him like he had done something adorable. Jordan was torn between claiming the victory and dying of embarrassment.

"Natalie told me that Jordan had signed on after everything went down because my deputy was too chickenshit to admit it when I let him sign the paperwork," the sheriff said. He was teasing but Jordan blushed all the same; he respected his boss and felt like a sneak because of the way things had gone down.

"I swear, I was just trying to do things your way, sir. All the noise and effort into the matchmaker... I thought it was how you wanted it done," said Jordan. Stiles looked from one to the other, frown on his face.

"Wait. Natalie matched us?" he asked. Jordan and his dad both nodded confirmation and Stiles' confusion turned to surprise. "You weren't kidding?"

Jordan shook his head. "No, not kidding. We were supposed to meet up at The Ranchhouse for dinner and everything..."

Stiles stared at him in a kind of jaw-slack shock. Jordan looked from Stiles to his dad to his own parents.

"What'd I say?"

"Nothing. It's just... You know, I mean, Lydia's... Well... Lydia. So her mom probably has her own... Uh... Natural talents. Uh..." Stiles verbally flailed around, stalling, suddenly very aware of Jordan's family sitting across from them. Scott busted up laughing at him for it and Stiles shoved at him to make him catch a hint.

"Do you know the myths about matchmakers, Jordan?" JT asked suddenly. "Or even about omegas, for that matter?"

"That's kind of a broad question, Dad," said Jordan.

"Let's start with the omegas then," said JT. "We're different, and it's not exactly clear why, never has been. So there are always theories, stories about where we came from. Some try to claim science, and others don't even bother because we're too chaotic for even science to understand."

"That's stupid," said Gray. He stood in the doorway to the hall, a piece of pizza in his hand and a scowl on his face. "You're human. Science explains humans."

JT shook his head. "Not really. Evolution is a theory. Every religion has an origin story to explain mankind, too. Omegas... Don't exactly fit in either one. We’re human and we pass our genetics on down the line, but we don't pass on our omega traits to our kids, so it's hard to claim omegas evolve or that we're even an evolution of mankind."

"It's a flipped switch in the DNA strand," said Stiles. "And nobody knows what turns it on or off or why some people it works and others it doesn't. All they know is an omega's kids won't be omegas. And they sometimes won't even have other omegas for generations after that, no real patterns can be found. It's completely random."

"And random doesn't describe evolution. Evolution requires a repeated pattern, but omegas don't follow any predictable genetic traits. Everyone has different groups of symptoms. Every omega presents differently," said Melissa McCall.

From the couch, JT raised a hand and gave a small wave. "But we're here. We had to come from somewhere."

"Some people say we came from the fae," said Stiles. Jordan wanted to laugh but he knew well enough not to, given his own supernatural situation, and Stiles looked too intent on the idea to risk knocking him down from it. It was something he wanted to talk about, so Jordan figured his little brother and his mom could just listen to the fairy tales for a minute and never give it another thought, because Jordan had no intentions of telling them about werewolves and... Whatever the hell he was.

"That's not exactly the story," said JT. He leaned forward, arms on his knees as he talked with his hands like he always did, despite the dinner plate in his hand. "It's more complicated than that. It goes back to the Romans, to their goddess Diana. She was the goddess of the hunt but also of childbirth. She was associated with nature, with the moon, and oak trees of all things."

"Oak trees?" That made Stiles startle like JT had kicked him but he didn't explain. Scott caught his eye and sobered up so somehow the pair were on the same track. Even Derek looked surprised so Jordan made the mental note to ask him about it later. JT just nodded and continued his story.

"All of the woodlands were her domain, and she cared for them along with a nymph, or a woodland fae if you will, who acted as her right hand. And as the story goes, the nymph, Egeria, one day was saved from a fire by a group of hunters. They were followers of Diana and Egeria deemed them faithful, so she offered to bless their families for their help. But these three hunters were barren, they had no families, so Egeria couldn't bless a lineage. Instead, she blessed the hunters. The nymph meddled in the affairs of the gods and attempted to correct the human frailty that made the hunters childless. She was Diana's assistant, served as a midwife to Diana's most faithful, so Egeria thought she could certainly help these hunters."

By then, everyone had forgotten their food, and the room was silent as they listened. Jordan's dad had always told stories when he was growing up, but this wasn't one he had ever heard before. Gray was enthralled and Stiles hung on every word. Jordan tried not to interfere at all even if he wasn't quite sold on the whole idea.

"Now, there were three hunters. Two men and a woman. And the blessing didn't effect simply fertility. It messed with everything. They became stronger, more resilient, and they survived the woods with ease after saving Egeria. They didn't seem to age as the years went by. They became protectors of their friends as though they were family. And of course, eventually, the children happened," said JT.

"They were blessed one by one with families of their own. But the blessing was wrong because, obviously, alpha men can't carry babies. They aren't built for it. And women's bodies are designed to carry babies in a certain way, but not as the blessing had caused. Diana was forced to intervene to protect Egeria's good intentions. The goddess played midwife to the three hunters as they needed her. And as the generations went on, the duty of caring for these fae-blessed omegas went to those tapped by Diana to mind them. She blessed certain lineage to track and care for the omegas, which is why some matchmakers are good at their jobs, and others just sell snake oil."

"Cool," muttered Gray. Jordan rolled his eyes but didn't comment. His dad was the only one who noticed.

"So in theory then," JT continued, "Matchmakers are the chosen children of Diana, protecting her omegas. And when a match is made, it isn't done lightly. Even those that don't work out had some potential. So it's just in how you look at their role."

“No,” said Lilah. She was a skeptic and a realist, and Jordan figured he took after her in that regard. “You’re suggesting it’s in their blood, not their role as matchmaker.”

“It’s in their role if you trust that they take their work seriously, because of their bloodline,” replied JT. “You take a mother’s role more seriously than a babysitter’s because she’s a mother, she’s not just paid to do a job. It’s a similar comparison.”

There was a moment of quiet as people in the room considered the case. Stiles stared at Jordan, the grin on his face saying he bought into the story completely. Then Gray had to speak up and ruin it.

“But I thought you said Stiles had to go to the rich guy?” Gray asked. “I mean, everybody knows omegas have to marry the people they live with. It’s, like, this huge scandal if they don’t. ‘cause I mean, what if he gets pregnant or something while he’s there-”

To his credit, Gray wasn’t stupid. He was young and he wasn’t completely savvy, but he wasn’t mean. He backed away from it when he saw how his question hit Stiles. Gray looked from face to face and then to his dad. “I mean, I thought that’s what happened- I’m confused...”

“It’s not what will happen here,” Jordan said. “That’s why it’s chaperoned. Somebody will be with him. He’ll be safe.”

But the question had effectively grounded Stiles back in the reality of the situation. The one victory they had been clinging to, that Jordan and his boss hadn’t been sent to jail that day, faded away. Even Jordan realized how distracted he had been. The court was sending Stiles to stay with a man who thought money gave him ownership over people, even if it was just for the weekends, even if someone the sheriff trusted was always going to be with them. It would still be Kyle Carrington's terms and his territory. There was no way Stiles would be safe there. Jordan had to tramp down on the anger the realization stirred up. He looked to Derek and saw it there, too. It looked like Stiles wanted to run again so Jordan caught his hand.

“It’ll be fine though. You’ve got a wolf. He goes with you wherever you go anyway. Let the guy argue with fangs if he has a problem,” he said. Stiles looked shaky on it but he silently confirmed it with Derek before accepting the logic.

All the same, reality hit hard and Stiles was quieter after that. The evening’s good mood significantly lowered for everyone. Jordan was a natural optimist but he was beginning to realize that reality sucked.

 

***

 

For a little while after dinner, Stiles disappeared. He made sure Jordan knew where he was going but he made it just as clear that he didn't need company. He needed a chance to think. Everything that morning had happened too fast to really sink in, and the afternoon disappeared because Stiles was more concerned about Jordan. JT had told him it was still okay, Jordan had proved he was still right there to help Stiles through everything. That was more than Stiles had expected and slightly daunting, very distracting.

He had selectively ignored the actual implications of what the court had ordered until a stranger pointed it out to him. A stranger had to offer up the perspective from the outside looking in, and that was the perspective that could always cause the most damage. If a video from a party with a couple of friends could derail Stiles' life so drastically, what was it going to do when it got around that the sheriff's son had gotten secretly married and then a court-ordered annulment? The sheriff's station was full of gossip and rumor just the same as his school, and word would get around. People would notice that he was gone on the weekends. He would be seen leaving the games with Kyle, not Jordan. His dad would have to escort him. The sheriff disappearing on the weekends would be noticed. It would be like New Years all over again, but so much worse.

What he had forgotten was that Stiles wasn't the only one in the mess. It wasn't just about him, or him and Jordan. His dad was in it too. His dad was going to lose his job trying to keep track of the unruly omega. It wasn't fair. But Stiles was only going to make it worse on his dad if he kept leaning on Jordan after serving his court-ordered time with Kyle. It made his dad seem indulgent and weak if he couldn't stand up to his omega son to make him behave, because omegas weren't supposed to be courting more than one guy at a time. It wasn't done.

It was a scandal waiting to happen, especially after Stiles had gone after a photographer, the journalists would be circling like sharks. And Kyle already knew how to handle the press, but Stiles and his dad didn't. He could write the stories and take the photos himself, pass them out like candy, and ruin the Sheriff's public image if he disagreed with how Stiles or his dad handled the weekend. They couldn't even silence the local rumors, and Kyle had a national if not international audience. He would win.

And if Kyle had tried to kiss him when he bought him, he would have an agenda when he got Stiles to his house, his territory, his county. Stiles already knew he didn't like what Kyle wanted. The court had made it clear that didn't matter. What mattered was keeping Kyle happy because he had lost money on the omega. It just happened to be a direct conflict with how Stiles chose to see his priorities in life. Somebody else made a stupid, immoral, unethical decision on how to spend their money and they forgot to ask his opinion before spending it on him. There were going to be problems if Kyle and the court expected their pet omega to put out because of it.

The worst part though was that Stiles causing problems for the rich guy would always get back to his dad, would always screw up how his dad ran things, with the Beacon Hills Gossip Squad looking over his shoulder. That realization was almost paralyzing.

He sat on the steps of his dad's house and stared out at the messy back yard; he didn't even do yard chores predictably and there were pockets where the yard looked kept and other places where he had left in the middle of a project and never gone back. The grass was all but dead because neither he nor his dad had gotten around to repairing the water system the last two years. Stiles could have figured it out, but he had never gotten around to it. He was always too preoccupied with the affairs of werewolves, and most recently with the absolute destruction of his own life. Looking around at the yard, Stiles saw proof enough that he was the world's worst son, let alone the world's worst omega.

"JT would never let anything look this bad," he realized. The guy had the whole omega thing figured out, but he had his own life in hand, too. It all made sense to Jordan's dad, and it all confused the hell out of Stiles.

"JT would never let anything look this bad because JT can hire professional landscapers," said his dad. Stiles turned to see his dad step out on the porch, close the door behind him. A moment later he was settled on the steps beside him. "Don't lose the context, buddy. You're a kid, not somebody's husband and not somebody's dad. He has advantages you didn't. And that's not your fault, either."

"Except the part where none of this would be like it is if I were normal, like Scott or Grayson," said Stiles. "But I'm not. I don't fit in with them, and I don't fit in with JT's world either. If I did, at least the yard would get taken care of."

The comment didn't make his dad very happy. He looked Stiles straight in the eye. "Just for the record, I know you think I'm old and fragile, but I am perfectly capable of taking care of yard work. There's other things I've been worried about. If you were twelve and still played in the backyard, I'd worry about the yard. But you're not, we're both busy, and nature can take care of itself."

"There's dirty dishes in the sink," said Stiles. "The house can't take care of itself. I don't like taking care of it. Now it's gotta be my job? There are, like three things that guy Kyle is going to expect out of me and I don't want to do any of them. There is nothing in me that agrees with having to do it."

The yard and housework was only the tip of the iceberg of unwanted things, but Stiles waved toward the yard as proof. His dad didn't like Kyle being brought up, he scowled as his hands tightened in fists.

"You don't have to do what that asshole orders you to do. This weekend, you remind him of that, and I'll be there to back you up. If he expects you to be something you're not because he thinks your genetics define you like that, he's the one with the problem. He has to rethink it. Not you," said his dad. Stiles frowned at the porch steps between his shoes.

"But he made it my problem when he went to the court," said Stiles.

"So, the court said you had four weekends to let him know he was wrong," his dad replied. Stiles scoffed and shook his head.

"That's not what he said," Stiles told him. "Everyone keeps telling me it'll be fine, it's just a month. But the judge said the rich guy is what's good for me and if I don't agree after thirty days, he goes after you and maybe Jordan for fraud. You'll lose your job. Or you'll go to jail. And if you go to jail for even six months, I'm not eighteen until June. They'll just send me to Kyle anyway."

"Look, kid... You weren't there when Jordan and I signed that thing. I hate to say it but you had nothing to do with that. We wanted to be sure we got you back. It wasn't considered what you'd think about it. So it's on me and it's on Jordan if they go after us for it."

"No, it's on me if I make them go after you," said Stiles. "If I'm not the perfect omega then he could go after you guys. They specifically put in the agreement, no sabotage. And that's entirely up to Kyle to define."

To his credit, his dad didn't argue with him that time. He didn't try to lie it off. And it didn't make Stiles feel any better.

"You don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with, Stiles. The court gave him custody for three days out of the week, but I'll be there the whole time. If he's not on his best chaperoned behavior then my rights as a parent get to supersede any court arrangement," said his dad.

"I'm not comfortable going," said Stiles.

"That part we have to do, though," said his dad, nodding.

"I don't want to come home pregnant," added Stiles. Again, his dad nodded.

"That's why the chaperone," he said. "He _touches_ you, I kill him. Or Derek does. Whoever is closer."

"I want to stay with Jordan," said Stiles.

"You can. Four days out of the week," said his dad. He hesitated, then added, "At this house."

"But it'll get around..."

"So? Let it. People talk all the time. Don't worry about them," his dad said.

"People talked about me kissing my friends at a party and I got shoved on a new track, and kidnapped..."

"You _hit_ a _lawyer_ ," his dad said. There was a noticeable trace of frustration in the reminder. "And you ran away. Those were _your_ choices. So yes, people talking screwed things up. But don't ignore your own contributions there. Ignore the talkers and worry about you, alright?"

Stiles stared out at the yard, thinking, scowling a little at the reminder that he hadn't made the smartest choices. He knew it then, too, that he wasn't thinking right when he made them, but he was reacting more than thinking.

"It's not my fault," he said in his own defense. His dad caught his shoulder and squeezed in a careful hug.

"God no. All I meant is live and learn. Next time, _don't_ hit the lawyer. Run to me or Jordan or Scott or Derek or anyone safe... Not toward the psychos in the city," he said. Stiles nodded grudging acceptance.

"So I guess while we're gone this weekend, we get Jordan to watch the house," his dad said. He wasn't completely at ease with it even as he suggested it. "Let him clean up the guest room for himself."

Stiles squinted at him for the offer. "I thought you were going to turn it into an office?"

"If I haven't gotten around to it in this long, I'm probably not going to bother," said his dad. "You're almost done with school and what do I need an office for? I have one."

At that reasoning, Stiles felt deflated all over again. "What about college?"

His dad eased back into his own space, stared down at his hands as he leaned on his knees. "College won't be up to me. If you're sticking with Jordan, you'll have your own place. I can help pay for school, but he'll have to sign the papers to get you in."

It was one more thing Stiles had been avoiding thinking about. He was afraid to mention it to Jordan because he didn't want to hear an answer that might make the match less than the perfect Stiles wanted it to be. It was a reminder that everything around him expected him to grow up, face parts of the world that didn't want him, and Stiles was still worried about werewolves and demons more than marriage.

"I don't think marriage is a good idea," said Stiles after some quiet. "I mean, for me. I should get married because I want to, right? Not because I'm afraid of what happens if I don't get married."

His dad nodded, but he didn't look any happier. "It should only be because you never want to leave the person you're with, because you love them and you're partners in everything."

"Can I know that in a month?"

"That's up to you, son. It'll take what it takes," he said. He met Stiles' stare eye to eye again. "But I'll tell you one thing that's certain. I won't sign you over to anyone until you say it's what you want."

"Until I disappear again," said Stiles. His dad winced and then reluctantly nodded, looked down at his hands again.

"Well, yeah, I'd like to keep that option on the table in case we need it," he said. In his own defense, he added quickly, "And hey, now you know who the lucky paper-spouse will be if we need one. Either Jordan or Lydia. Good backup plans."

"Jordan was the smarter call. Lydia might have attacked the judge," said Stiles. He was blushing under the bitter reminder.

"Jordan does seem to have worked out okay," his dad agreed. He shrugged it off. "Well, aside from the part with the court being involved. The judge screwed everything up pretty good."

Stiles nodded. "I don't want anybody to get in more trouble. It's like... It should all wait until Kyle goes away. But then if you think about it, you realize, it might not just go away. You know? He spent a lot of money. I'm an investment. He expects returns. He won't walk away."

"Son, stop," his dad ordered. He even caught his hand to be sure he had his attention. "Just- don't go there yet. You're going to make yourself sick, stressing out."

"It's kind of important-"

"I get that," his dad said, interrupting him. "But it's more important that you get healthy right now. You get back to where you were two months ago before you let yourself worry about Carrington."

Stiles shook his head. "I have to be ahead of this guy-"

"No. You have to take care of you. So I don't give two shits what the lawyers want or don't. Enjoy what you have while you have it. You have Jordan now. We'll deal with next month when it gets here," said his dad. He wasn't happy about saying any of it. "But we don't know what he wants. So you get happy when you can, how you can, and if Jordan's that, then you hang on."

Stiles frowned out at the yard. His dad wasn't lying to him anymore. There were no more happy, positive, sing-song alternative viewpoints to handle the situation from. It just sucked. Plain and simple. And they couldn't do anything about it. Stiles didn't know what to do about any of it.

He wanted to go hang out with Jordan.

 

***


	7. Chapter 7

Jordan's family was actually alright. His mom could talk law-stuff with Stiles' dad, and she had some awesome blackmail stories about Jordan. As an omega who didn't fit the stereotype, JT had become Stiles' favorite human of the week, but as a mom who could make Jordan blush worse than any omega, Lilah Parrish was in at a very close second. Even Grayson was alright. He was a jock who spent all his time outside apparently so he had no clue about the joys of kicking chickens in Fable or jumping rooftops in Assassins Creed.

Trying to recover from the shock delivered at dinner, Stiles and Scott traded off introducing Grayson to video games for two hours, the three of them on the floor in front of the TV while the adults all talked about work. Legal stuff with Carrington and the hunters came up in snatches but Stiles steadfastly ignored anything to do with him. They were all sitting on couches and chairs and literally talking over his head, so he ignored it.

When he wasn't playing, he leaned against Jordan's leg where the man sat on the couch; Stiles was still all-over sore and tired but he was determined to ignore it because he was actually having fun. For the first time in weeks, he was _happy_. As long as he didn’t think about being forced to spend the next four weekends with Kyle.

At some point, Derek gave up on attempting to be social and he excused himself from the festivities. Around the same time, the parents all excused themselves to the dining room so it wasn't really noticed. Twenty minutes later, a big black wolf padded into the Stilinski's den and flopped down on the floor between Stiles and Scott, nose on his paws. Derek the wolf even seemed to fall asleep that way.

When Stiles turned the controller over to Grayson to let him play against Scott, he moved up to sit next to Jordan on the couch. Derek followed him so he could stretch out on the pillows and set his big furry head against Stiles' leg. He fell asleep again there and Stiles began to suspect the wolf wasn't really asleep, he was just pretending so people would leave him alone. The wolf didn't get between them so Stiles slouched against Jordan and didn't complain about the space-heater on the couch with them.

Arms wrapped around Stiles, hugging him back against his chest, Jordan fell asleep. Stiles discovered he had a new favorite thing and just listened to the quiet breaths, felt Jordan's heartbeat against his shoulder. It was comfortable and warm, probably wouldn't scandalize their parents, and Stiles got to watch video games while cuddling. Across the board it was a win.

When Jordan's breathing changed, Stiles glanced over his shoulder to see if he was awake. He seemed to still be asleep. His face randomly pinched and frowned, his head would shake just slightly, like a bad dream. Stiles whispered at him, trying to bring him out of it, but he was still too far under to hear him. The weird thing was that his breathing and heart rate seemed to say he was awake. It was hard to get a good view from slouched against Jordan's side so Stiles tried to sit up a little, get a less over-the-shoulder look at his face. Jordan's arms tightened just enough, his hand closing over Stiles' shoulder to keep him still.

A heartbeat later, Stiles felt warmth at his shoulder and ribs where Jordan's hands rested. The warmth turned to heat and Stiles realized what had happened. He yelped a warning and shoved at Jordan to wake him up. It worked easily enough and Jordan startled back just as Stiles ducked out from under his arm.

The noise caught Scott and Gray's attention and the two looked back over their shoulders to see Jordan taking a blanket to Stiles' shoulder as Stiles patted at his ribs and tugged at his t-shirt to get it away. It seemed a safe assumption that if the blanket wasn't on fire then Jordan had turned off the flambé setting but Stiles was still worried. How the hell were they supposed to explain that to Gray? Scott caught the look on Stiles' face (it probably matched the one on his) and tried for a save.

"Seriously you guys? Go get a room," he said, dismissing them. He shouldered at Gray and pointed back to their game. "You're gonna die, dude."

Gray looked confused so Scott bounced his car into an NPC to crash it off of Gray's and the kid had to focus on the game in a hurry. Stiles looked up to see Jordan near panic and then, worse, their parents rushing in from the dining room to investigate.

"I didn't do it," Stiles blurted, the first thing that came to mind. Jordan looked impossibly more scandalized while also very lost. When he saw his dad look at his shoulder, Stiles ducked into the blanket better to hide his shirt. His dad reacted anyway, frustration evident as he pointed toward the stairs.

"Go."

"I'm sure it wasn't that-" JT tried to play peacekeeper but neither he nor Jordan's mom had any real idea what was going on. Stiles took advantage of their momentary confusion and stood, quick to obey before either of them had a chance to see the burns on his shirt.

"I don't know what it was but I'd like a word with my deputy to find out," said the sheriff in a blatant abuse of power. Stiles lurked at the stairs, hand over the charring on his shoulder to hide it. Jordan started toward the kitchen and Stiles waved for him to follow before dodging up the stairs. His dad was distracted by Scott's efforts at keeping them out of trouble so Jordan followed after him. After a moment to deliberate, Stiles shoved Jordan toward his bedroom.

"Oh crap-" The deputy all but latched claws into the door frame to keep from entering territory highly likely to get him _killed_. Stiles pried him free and then closed them inside.

"What the hell happened?" he asked. At the same time Jordan wanted to know if he was okay. Stiles tugged the ruined shirt off over his head, poked the burn holes through the cotton before looking down at his chest. Little dots about the size of finger pads lined up over his ribs. Jordan waved his arm out of the way so he could check them, then moved to the longer stripes over his shoulder. Stiles poked at the three finger-shaped burns that crossed over the still-healing knife cuts from his fight over the weekend. All of them scorched like he had run into a cookie sheet fresh from the oven but they were tolerable. Jordan seemed ten times more pained by them than Stiles actually felt.

"I am so sorry..."

"I'm fine, Jordan. I just wanna know-"

They were interrupted by the door shoving open then. Stiles was fully expecting his dad so he didn't startle as badly as Jordan did. It took him a minute to recognize it was JT who appeared in the room. To the man's credit, he took stock of the scene before he yelled at anybody for indecency. He stared at the marks on Stiles' left arm and then looked to his son.

"Damnit, JT, I told you-" Stiles' dad came up behind the guy then. He saw what they all saw and deflated slightly. With a resigned sigh, he prodded JT into the room and shut the door to keep anyone else out. He looked to Jordan, waved a hand toward his dad.

"I don't suppose you want to explain?" he asked. Jordan shook his head quickly.

"I don't know what happened..." was all he managed. JT looked from Jordan to Stiles.

"You don't smoke, right?" he asked, pointing to the marks that looked like cigarette burns. "I know Jay doesn't."

"Uh... It's..." Stiles glanced around the room, hunting ideas to trigger a useful fabrication of truth. His dad knew him a little too well, apparently.

"Before my kid pulls out a chess board to confuse the shit out of everybody," the sheriff began. Stiles tried to glare at him for it but his dad ignored him. "What do you know about werewolves? You didn't bat an eye at anything over the weekend."

It took a minute for JT to answer, his attention more caught by Jordan. The deputy had faced down hunters and assassins but he looked actually terrified of his dad.

"I've been dealing with an emissary from a pack in San Jose since Talia Hale tracked us down twenty years ago," JT finally said. "I know quite a bit more than I should."

There was a sound from Jordan like he had choked on something. Stiles wasn't sure what it meant so he tried to run interference.

"He's not-"

"Yeah, you told me," said JT. He motioned toward the marks on Stiles. "So is this what he can do? Burn things?"

"He didn't-" Stiles floundered on the lie because JT wasn't buying it, not with Jordan looking pale and a little green about it. "Okay he did but he didn't do it on purpose."

"Jordan?" The guy's dad didn't want to deal with a middle-man apparently.

"I didn't. I was asleep," said Jordan.

"He was. I saw," added Stiles.

"Okay, well, that doesn't make me feel any better," said Stiles' dad.

"Dad, come on..."

"You were awake, he was asleep, and Scott was right there-"

"Derek was, like, _on_ me. We weren't doing anything wrong," said Stiles.

"Except he potentially set you on fire. I don't think he did it on purpose, but I don't want to hear you making excuses for it. It could have gone... Worse." His dad hesitated, shook his head and looked away. " _Next time_ , it could go worse."

The observation stung but Stiles couldn't narrow it down exactly why; it could have been the part where his dad thought Stiles was making excuses or it was that he thought Jordan would do it again.

"It won't happen again, sir," said Jordan. That just frustrated Stiles more.

"Why did it happen this time?" JT's question smothered Stiles' protest. "What actually happened?"

"I don't know," replied Jordan. He shook his head, sincere and unsettled. "I was _asleep_."

"Right, and something triggered the reaction in your sleep," said JT.

"Did he move away and wake you or something?" asked Stiles' dad.

Jordan shook his head. "I don't know. I was dreaming... I've done it before, at home, but I've always been by myself. I wake myself up."

"Wait, you've done this to _yourself_?" Stiles asked. He had to fight the urge to check Jordan's skin for burn marks. Jordan just shrugged it off.

"I heal. I've never hurt myself before with it. Just... Burned a couple of shirts maybe."

"Are you dreaming about fire or something?" Stiles asked him. Jordan hesitated. His attention went to his dad, concern all over his features.

"Tonight?"

"Any of them," said JT. "Including tonight."

"Sometimes, yeah. But not tonight. I saw hunters go after Gray. Like they went after Stiles," said Jordan. He looked to his boss. "Remember when you asked me how I knew what went on in the basement under the school? About the basketball team and Harrison?"

"You dreamed all that?" asked Stiles, jaw gaped loose. "But you got everything right-"

"I dreamed it. And it was the same as tonight. It felt exactly the same," said Jordan.

"Gray isn't an omega, or a werewolf or anything else," said JT.

"I know. It doesn't make sense. But he was there, with the hunters. He was... Maybe he was a little older than he is now. It wasn't exactly him. But he sounded like Gray when he talked. And they had him locked up in an animal kennel. Him and four other people. There was a whole row of them."

"But it could have been just a dream," pointed out the sheriff.

"It was but it wasn't. I can change a dream," said Jordan. "I can steer it and interact with it. But when I tried to do that, I couldn't touch anything. It was just like the hallway under the school. I could touch the walls and the doors but not the people. I couldn't save him."

"Save him?" echoed Stiles and his dad both. Jordan looked uncomfortable and shook his head.

"Somebody took him out of the kennel, didn't they?" asked JT. Jordan seemed surprised.

"Yeah. He was already black and blue and he kept fighting. I tried to grab him away when they got him out but Stiles woke me," said Jordan.

"What was he wearing?" JT asked. The question seemed out of left field, a completely unexpected direction for the line of investigation. Jordan didn't seem to notice it was out of place.

"Jeans or something. His shirt was bloody," he said. JT shook his head.

"Gray doesn't wear shirts like that," said JT. That did surprise Jordan.

"It was _bloody_. That's not his usual fashion statement," he agreed. JT frowned at him, frustrated. He stared like he wanted to say something but didn't. Then he fished into his back pocket for his wallet. A moment later he held it out, the pictures tucked in the billfold held open to a particular old photo in a clear plastic case.

"Did it look like that one?" he asked. Jordan checked. Stiles and his dad snooped, too. The picture was of JT when he was younger and a little blonder, and he looked a lot like the kid currently playing video games downstairs with Scott. The JT in the photo held a dark haired little boy in his arms, probably around four years old. They wore shirts that seemed to match, green and white raglan baseball shirts from a local baseball team. Stiles couldn't tell for certain but it looked like the team name splashed across the front read _The Outlaws_ in black loopy font. Jordan went impossibly pale as he looked up at his dad. JT folded the wallet and tucked it away again.

"Stay out of my head, kid," he said. "You don't belong there and you don't want to be there."

It wasn't a threat but it held a certain warning. Stiles took a step back, assessing Jordan's dad a little more carefully.

"I wasn't in your head. I was sitting on the couch, _asleep_ ," said Jordan. He sounded frustrated more than worried. JT stayed quiet as the two stared at each other. He didn't seem angry with Jordan over it but he wasn't comfortable, either.

"So you can access memory? Other people's?" Stiles asked, trying to get things on another track for the two. "You couldn't do that last year when we were trying to figure this stuff out."

"It's not memory, Stiles," said Jordan. "I saw you in the basement with Hal last month. Weeks ago."

"Harrison," Stiles corrected, distracted. For some unknown reason there was an important distinction between the two names for him. Harrison was a jerk but he could be decent and Hal was just the evil jock alter-ego of the same guy.

"Whoever," said Jordan. "I still saw it before it happened."

"And now you're seeing stuff from twenty years ago," said his dad. "And burning people. On accident."

"And you have a strange relationship with random birds," said Stiles' dad. For a moment Stiles was worried his dad had lost his mind. His dad shook his head and clarified. "He followed a bird to find you. So unless Derek can turn into a bird _and_ a wolf..."

"Raven," Jordan offered up, distracted. It stuck in Stiles' brain as he said it, like the burn across his shoulder. He couldn't sort it out exactly but he had heard it before.

"So, like a witch or something? You have familiars? I need to hit the library at the university..." he said. Jordan looked at him again, curious with some hope. "What? It's not exactly easy sorting through thousands of search results on this kind of thing. I want to maybe start local..."

"Not tonight," said the sheriff. "A library isn't going to keep Jordan from burning his house down in his sleep. We can line some oven mitts in tin foil or something for the night."

"After those burns are seen to," added JT. Too distracted by the cause, Stiles had forgotten the scorch marks on his chest and arm. He had also forgotten the fact that he had shucked his shirt before their dads showed up. He tried to cross his arms and promptly felt the tug of the injuries JT wanted to take care of. The insistence that he could handle it faded off before it hit his lips. With heat being intentionally hellacious and everything from a few days earlier still hanging in, it wasn't a fight Stiles wanted to pick. Between that and the concern on Jordan's face, he finally nodded. "Okay, fine."

It was worth it just for the way Jordan seemed to relax from the decision.

***


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's back again! So far it sits at about 85 pages and I've only posted about half that, and I'd say it's about a 3rd of the way completed.  
> ((Just in case you were worried this thing was dead. It ain't dead yet. ;) ))
> 
>  
> 
> \-----

Jordan was afraid to touch anyone for the rest of the night. Stiles seemed to catch on to it because he kept touching. Pat on the back, arm over the shoulder, hugs from everywhere. Not so much with the hand holding this time. Jordan noticed that easily. He wanted to call it a night but Stiles latched on and didn't let him. They ended up back in the living room watching Gray learn video games. Derek the wolf climbed half in Stiles' lap to protect him again and Stiles fell asleep that time. It was like sitting next to an oven, especially once he fell asleep. He slumped against Jordan's shoulder but otherwise held his own space. Fighting his own exhaustion with the day, Jordan very carefully didn't touch anyone or any _thing_ with his hands. He wasn't going to sleep. Maybe not ever again.

It was weird to realize that a week earlier, Jordan had been sitting by himself and nervous in his own living room, remembering the free coffee with Stiles that afternoon. The coffee had been a thrill then, a secret thing, just between the two of them. Now Jordan had lost count of kisses and hugs and there was no need to keep secrets about it; his boss would kill him someday but it apparently wasn't going to be because of Stiles' new tendency to share space. Jordan liked it. But it wasn't so awesome being afraid to touch back.

It was about eleven PM when someone caught Jordan from behind, hands over his eyes like they were going to make him start guessing. There wasn't much mystery since he smelled his mom's perfume and the owner of the hands followed up with a kiss to the top of his head while he was held still.

"Time to go, Jay," his mom said. She kept her voice quiet, like there was actually a chance Stiles wouldn't be woken up by her presence behind them. She patted Jordan's cheeks and moved away to start prying the video game handset away from Grayson.

It occurred to Jordan that he wasn't thirteen anymore like his brother and he didn't have to go anywhere. As an adult, he could stay right where he was until the owner of the house kicked him out. But that was a really bad plan for a multitude of reasons. When Jordan checked on Stiles next, he was awake-ish and blinking around at the room like he didn't remember falling asleep.

"Go to bed," Jordan suggested. Stiles had to think about it before nodding. Then he tucked his head back to Jordan's shoulder like he was following orders already. Jordan huffed a laugh, looked to Derek for help. The wolf just stared at him, head still on Stiles' lap. Then he curled up, seemed uncomfortable so he stood up and circled on the couch before burrowing under the blanket Jordan had earlier used to put out a small fire on Stiles' shirt. That wasn't fair at all.

"You and I are gonna have words tomorrow," Jordan informed the wolf. The wolf ignored him. His brother didn't.

"You lost your mind already," Gray told him. He swung at his brother's shoulder as the kid walked by but he missed, predictably. The movement roused Stiles and he reluctantly pushed himself off the couch to start pulling Jordan after him.

"You're picking us up in the morning," he said. "So go sleep now."

That surprised him and Jordan couldn't help the confusion. "You're still-"

"I know," Stiles interrupted. "But if I don't go, I can't go to the game. So I'm going."

After almost making him mad by mentioning his heat, Jordan was not going to risk saying anything to Stiles about lacrosse. He settled for a goodbye on the porch, in the shadows away from the porch light. That was fun because his hands never left his pockets and Stiles retaliated with the same game. It worked until Jordan's brother yelled from the car and Stiles' dad appeared in the doorway to the house to wait for him, too.

Jordan snuck off the porch as casually as possible to contrast Stiles' guilty creep past his father. His little brother was absolutely merciless on the drive back to the apartment, so Jordan didn't feel at all bad about taking the couch and making the kid sleep on the floor.

 

***

 

In daylight, Jordan wasn't so tired. Which meant, of course, that hands were once again allowed to touch now that he wasn't afraid of losing what control he had on the spark that turned him into the firestarter. Stiles duped Derek the wolf out on the front porch and closed the door, successfully guaranteeing him fifteen minutes of couch-time with Jordan before school.

Derek sat in front of the door, ears pinned back and teeth bared when Stiles and Jordan actually went to leave. He didn't appreciate Stiles locking him out where he couldn't shift forms to utilize the evolutionary blessing known as thumbs. Stiles counted himself lucky he hadn't been bitten for the trick. Instead, Derek grabbed his over-shirt and dragged him to the car, which was funny as hell until the wolf tricked him into opening the door to the back seat, pranced around his legs until he tripped, and then shoved him inside. Any move toward the door or the front seats got him snapped at. It turned out that wolves made effective babysitters after all.

The wolf was still snappish when they got to school, even used bared teeth and pinned back ears to keep Jordan from getting out of the car to say good bye. Annoyed, Stiles informed him he was being bitchy. Derek turned his back on him and pranced away. Toward Stiles' first class. He left Stiles standing in the middle of the open sidewalk by himself. After the public fiasco of the courthouse and then the sheriff's station the day before, Stiles felt suddenly exposed and vulnerable. He remembered very clearly why he had a guard dog in the first place. Hating on how his brain worked, always reminding him of the worst case scenario, Stiles hurried to catch up to the wolf. That took a little effort, because Derek knew when he got close and could outrun him without even trying (and Stiles was so out of shape after a month of no practice or PE.)

"Okay! Fine, I'm sorry!" Stiles finally said, the complaint only just loud enough for the wolf to hear. "I won't lock you on the porch again. I promise."

Like he had spoken the magic words, Derek stopped moving and waited for him. Even the wolf face could look smug. Stiles latched onto the leash as an act of self-preservation and Derek didn't hassle him the rest of the way to class.

Looking a little more pregnant that he had on Monday, Shawn was waiting for them at the door. He saw Stiles' jersey on under the flannel and tugged at the collar of the over shirt to drag it off.

"You're on the team..."

"Yeah but I don't want kicked out of class-"

"Would you just trust me? Do it," Shawn ordered. Team pride and all that. So Stiles wadded up the flannel and shoved it in his new backpack. His friend smiled at him like some kind of proud papa.

"See, you look good," said Shawn. "Go with it."

Stiles wasn't sure where the compliment came from and floundered to think up a polite return.

"You look... round," said Stiles, with his usual flare of grace. "I haven't even been gone a week. What the hell-"

"Omega, duh," said Shawn. "Everything speeds up. Two weeks left."

"You timed it wrong. You're going to have a kid screaming at you while you're doing homework," Stiles pointed out.

"Nope, the kid will be my homework," Shawn said. There were good odds he would drop out once he and his girl got married, and that was supposedly planned for Valentine's Day. Less than a week away. Stiles was a little taken back to realize he was returning to school only to lose the one person in the entire track who he didn't think was an idiot. He toyed with the leash in his hands, wondering how long he could talk Derek in to keeping him company.

They took their seats with a mild version of Monday's fanfare. Stiles met the neck-hugs and shoulder pats with more patience than usual. He was also infinitely more confused. There was a strange sense of relief being around the students on the Omega Track, not the usual annoyance or frustration. It was almost like he had missed them. And maybe he could admit that he had; they had tolerated him for a month, worried about him when he was gone, and welcomed him back after, so they probably actually cared under all that social programming. At least a little bit. But it was still all weird. Since his first day it had been the place he was forced to be and now it felt like he was coming back to someplace he belonged. That bugged him.

Malcolm looked at him a little sideways for the jersey but she just patted his head and walked by. The feeling that he didn't belong rushed back and Stiles actually felt a little better for it.

The calm was short-lived as a moment later Malcolm announced that she would be passing out their progress reports at the end of class. The woman called Stiles' dad with progress reports every few days for weeks so Stiles knew it wasn't going to be pretty. He gnawed at the end of a pen and leaned toward Shawn without taking his attention off the lecture at the front of the room.

"Will the whole being-kidnapped-from-school-grounds help me out in the grades at all? Or is that an automatic fail at all things 'mega?" he asked, quiet. Shawn mirrored his movement but didn't have good news for him.

"It's not a guaranteed fail... Exactly..." There was a hesitation, like Shawn was stuck on what to say. But Stiles figured he knew enough. As far as the school was concerned, that was the second time Stiles had been kidnapped from the school. The first was two years earlier after a lacrosse game. He couldn't blame the hunters so he blamed kids from the other team and his counselor reminded him every session for months after that sexual assault was a hard thing to come to terms with and no one was weak for asking for help dealing with it. (The same counselor didn't think to mention that after Eichen, funny enough.) Now there was disappearance number two and it really was related to the fact that Stiles was an omega. The school probably figured he had never learned his lesson and it was all on him.

"Great." Stiles slumped in his chair and scowled at the desk.

"Besides," Shawn pointed out the next time Malcolm started talking. "The grades had to be turned in last Friday for us to get them today. You should be fine."

Stiles wasn't sure if that made him feel better or not.

 

***

 

The progress report was mostly bad news from the second Stiles tore into the carbon-lined envelope. The A in home accounting couldn’t make up for the fact that he was an average low-B in childcare, had a D in Malcolm's class, and the predicted F in Phillips' health class. The man didn't teach health, he shoved dangerous propaganda down the throats of kids too used to trusting their school to know any better. Stiles thought it was all a danger, to himself and to the others. Shawn had shown some signs of listening to his warnings, but he was still a student and he was supposed to actually try to come up with the answers the instructor wanted. The snag was that Stiles wasn't good at thinking inside the box, even on homework, so he and Phillips were especially doomed to war. The progress report reflected that. Very clearly.

"Are you okay?" Shawn asked after Malcolm's class. Stiles gnawed at a backpack strap and nodded, his brain distracted trying to think up ways to steal Phillips' grade book before midterms.

"I don't believe you," said Shawn. "You can't be okay. Not after that."

"After -wait, what?" Stiles stopped in the hall, trying to focus on whatever Shawn was saying.

"The progress report! I saw those grades. If I were you I would be jumping off the gym right now," said Shawn. "I got a B one time in Jr. high. I thought my dad was going to kill me."

Not the most helpful thing Shawn had ever said. Stiles scowled around the end of the backpack strap. "Good job, friend. I wasn't considering jumping off the gym until you suggested it."

"I'm not shadowing you up there," Shawn replied, shaking his head. "But I promise to call an ambulance if you need one."

It didn't hit him until the mention of emergency services. Then Stiles startled like somebody had smacked him on the back. "Oh shit! My dad!"

Shawn nodded. "I told you..."

"I gotta call my dad before Malcolm does..."

"You call him now, we'll miss class, and you'll get in trouble for ditching," said Shawn. Stiles wasn't paying attention, his phone already out and dialing his dad's cell number.

"Stiles?"

"Whatever you do today, do not -I repeat do not- answer your phone without screening your calls," Stiles told his dad. "I mean, this is imperative-"

"Malcolm called me yesterday," his dad interrupted. His father was a lying cheat who withheld vital information and was completely complicit with the devil all the sudden.

"It's not my fault!" Stiles knew he shouldn't have tried that tactic the second the words were out of his mouth.

"Really? That's funny. I thought it was your grade. Did you hire someone to fail your health tests for you?" asked his dad. "That's not generally how people choose to plagiarize-"

"Dad. Come on. The guy actually teaches these guys that they can get themselves pregnant jerking off to porn. This is like, _anti-sex-education_... It's like they're thinking up ways to make us _dumber_..." Stiles' protests to the phone were making Shawn look very confused and simultaneously very embarrassed. Stiles narrowed his eyes at his friend.

"Don't even pull that act. You are pregnant, and I highly doubt it was immaculate conception," he hissed at him. Shawn swatted at his shoulder like he was threatening some kind of secret. His dad didn't notice over the phone.

"I don't care if he's teaching you that the sky is made of marshmallows, you still have to graduate," his dad told him. "We can get you into homeschool if you want, but you pick the grades up. You worked too hard to quit now, kid."

"But-"

"An F on the midterm report gets you kicked off the team again," his dad reminded him.

"Oh shit..."

"Language. You're at school," said his dad. "And you should be in class. Why are you-"

The bell rang just to accent his words. Stiles shoved Shawn toward the door to their next class just steps away. "Gotta go!"

He was off the phone and sliding into his seat at the back of the room before the second bell, Shawn glaring at him.

"What?"

" _Immaculate conception,_ " Shawn muttered at him.

"Well, it's not like Playboy did it. Maybe a fake ID and some quality time with _Johnny Walker_ ," said Stiles. "Just be glad you're getting any, unlike the rest of us."

The bitter observation got Shawn over the annoyance easily enough and when Stiles glanced back at him, his friend was grinning and smug. Life was firmly in the category of _Not Fair_.

***


	9. Chapter 9

Things were almost peaceful when it rolled around to lunchtime Friday. It stood a stark contrast to lunchtime Thursday, when Jordan had wanted to crawl out of his skin from anger and nerves. Instead, he felt pretty good. And he had a few daydreams cluttering his head that didn't seem so far-fetched anymore. It turned out that letting Stiles pin him to the couch that morning was simultaneously the best and worst idea he'd had in awhile; best because he still remembered every second of it, and worst because his brain liked to replay it for him at the worst possible moments. It was destroying his concentration, which was something he had noticed Stiles was really good at and it wasn't even Stiles' fault. Jordan buckled down the hatches and made himself focus on the present, not the very recent past or the months-away future. Or even the hours-away future, because Jordan was going to the lacrosse game whether the court approved it or not.

So Jordan and his lunch found a park bench for company and he tried to study the trees for something that wasn't thinking about Stiles. A crow flew over to him and landed on the other end of the table, black beady eyes staring at him, from three feet away. Being the friendly sort he usually was, Jordan tossed bits of his food out for it. The bird tilted its head but didn't go after the food.

"That's all I've got," Jordan told the corvid. The bird didn't argue either.

Then, without any warning, the sun went out. Day at noon became night at nearly midnight, right before Jordan's eyes as he looked around. Unless the laws of the universe had changed on him, that was not a trick he ever wanted to see again. He had to get out of this one; he was sitting in the open, in a park, and an easy target in uniform when spaced out. All he could do was try to walk it off, hope whatever had taken over his brain didn't want him to walk off a cliff or something. So he left his food and stood up to leave.

It was night all around as he came to the parking lot. His patrol car wasn't there, and that could only lead to trouble. Parked in its place, though, was a familiar enough car. Peter Hale was there among a crowd of people. Jordan was angered by Peter well enough, but when he saw who stood beside him, he was livid. That was family. What the hell was his dad doing in the middle of the park, with Peter Hale, and half a dozen people Jordan didn't recognize? He called out and no one acknowledged him so he rushed to get closer.

"... Looks young enough," Peter was saying. "And he's already had a kid, so you know he'll pop out with no less than twins."

Even Jordan startled when Peter caught at JT's side, tugged up his shirt and put a hand to his hip to highlight the slightly wider spread left over from carrying a kid. Jordan's dad just stood there, angry but stuck with a werewolf on one side and hunters all around. Close enough to see faces through the shadows now, Jordan recognized two of them from the arrests he had made over Stiles’ kidnapping a week earlier. Tape over his mouth kept Jordan’s dad quiet and his arms were pulled behind him, taped or handcuffed, Jordan couldn't tell between the dark and his dad's jacket sleeves. And Peter just made himself comfortable, like he owned the exposed territory between JT's ribs and belt line.

"Double the profit for seven months work. He pays for himself in hardly two years," said Peter. He smiled at the glare from JT, rubbed his side. "And he's already house-trained. A little NyQuil in him and all the fight is gone, see?"

It was a challenge and even Jordan knew it, looking on and worried, but his dad wasn't safe, wasn't in his right mind if he was drugged. Despite the way Peter held on to him, JT tried to elbow him in the gut and duck away, put up the fight Peter said was gone. It didn't last long. His dad ended up on his knees with a hunter at his back pinning him in a headlock. Peter seemed unconcerned and turned his attention to the woman he had been dealing with before the interruption.

"Price includes the papers?" she asked. She sounded like she had an accent, maybe French. Jordan knew where he was now and he was memorizing everything. Every detail. It was the same thing that had happened with Stiles. The Ravens and crows brought him warnings. He wasn't going to fight them on it. He wanted whatever help they were willing to give. So he watched Peter haggle price tags, watched him count and then accept cash, all of it untraceable. JT was dragged to his feet, the duct tape at his wrists reinforced with handcuffs, and Peter and his briefcase of cash moved to meet him. He messed up his short hair playfully, fixed it as an excuse to touch JT more and add to his anger.

"Can't say I won't miss you, my sweet," he said, his cheer only theatrically dimmed. "But you had to play games."

Jordan had never felt such hate for a single person in his life as he did then, watching Peter Hale reach around to fight JT's wedding ring off his finger. He held it up between them to show he had won.

"You take my family, I'll take yours," said Peter. A very angry JT Parrish charged at Peter despite the hunter holding him back. It startled Jordan to see and sent him right out of the nightmare. He looked around to see daylight. His eyes didn't even have to adjust to the sudden shift from night to day. Jordan stood at the door of his police cruiser, very angry and very confused.

 

***

 

Because of the fiasco with his grades, Stiles stayed at school after. Shawn volunteered to help try to catch him up, since his grades were perfect. They were more perfect than usual because of the work he was already doing to help Stiles, so he said he owed him just for the karma points anyway. It caused a slight snafu with Stiles' Spanish class though, since he forgot about the part where Derek on four legs wasn't enough to get him in the room. He needed the two-legged version for both driving and for mollifying the instructor about the omega in their midst. So he ditched Spanish that day in preference for studying the steaming pile of bullshit that Phillips called a textbook on the omega reproductive system.

There were two libraries at the school, one for the alpha track, which Stiles was used to, and one for the omegas that he had literally never stepped foot inside until that day. The books on the shelves were different. There weren't as many of them and their content was aimed at omegas. The main character in every fiction novel was an omega, which was awesome. Except for the detail that every single one of them promised to be about an alpha somehow saving an omega, either from the evils on the streets or just from a misdirected life.

A recurring theme, based on the covers and the titles, was that omegas were happier at home. One story was even pushing the idea that omegas outside of the home would always unconsciously sabotage their own efforts at a career because secretly, way down on the inside, they wanted to get married and raise babies and the job interfered with that natural instinct. Shawn had to take that book from Stiles' hands to keep him from ripping the paperback in half. His friend steered him to a table instead of let him browse after that.

"You sit. I'll find the books," he instructed. Stiles somewhat gratefully complied.

After that, Stiles suffered through two hours of painful memorization of so-called facts about what was or wasn't healthy for young omegas. Too much sun was damaging to their skin and gave them a higher likelihood of cancer, too much exercise gave them heart trouble, too much food gave them health problems... The best plan for omegas was to stay in their alpha’s home, starve to stay small, and don’t exert themselves on anything that might make them strong. All basic common sense warnings that were applicable to all humans were twisted when applied to omegas, the consequences were more dire and more problematic and more expensive on their families. And every last one of them was wrong because omegas weren't frail flowers that would wilt in the sun and the wind. As one of only two people in his group of friends to survive werewolves and monsters without becoming one, Stiles was living proof that omegas bounced back better than the average human. But he couldn't exactly prove that to Shawn. So he read some sections out loud so Derek could hear them and he could at least be validated by the annoyed huffs from the wolf who knew better.

He was saved by the game and Shawn walked with him to the locker room. Stiles hadn't been to practice that week (or the whole month for that matter) so he wasn’t allowed on the field, but he still had to suit up. Once he was there and safe with his team though, Shawn took Derek and left in a hurry. It would never not be weird to see Derek happily trotting along on a leash, but he was playing guard dog for Shawn and it made Stiles feel a little better. Scott dragged him back to the room around him by clapping him on the shoulder.

"You're back, man," he said. He had the big puppy-dog smile on his face and for a second Stiles felt the excitement his friend tried to amp him up on. Someone walked by and messed up his hair as a hello and Danny bounced his locker door before he could put his stuff inside, just to rile him. He winked and then disappeared around the corner again. Scott waited patiently as Stiles sorted out his uniform from his bag.

It hit him then that he was in his old world, surrounded by his team, by alphas who didn't suck, who wanted him to succeed at something because it helped them succeed. He was the good luck charm and mascot again. And then he realized he was staring at a bag full of the remnants of the new world, at his clothes for the whole weekend because he was being forced to stay in the Bay Area with a kidnapper.

"Oh shit," he said under his breath. He wanted to grab his stuff and just run.

"What's wrong?" asked Scott, worried. Stiles held up his bag.

"I gotta leave with Kyle after the game," he said, voice as quiet as possible considering he was talking to a werewolf. Scott frowned at him.

"Okay. So. We run out the clock. I'm captain. We are going to collect time outs," said Scott. Stiles gave him a flat look. Scott ignored it.

"Derek's going with you, right?"

"Yeah. And my dad. Which, I don't think I can convey to you the full extent of the awkward that can happen there," said Stiles.

"If it gets too awkward it'll start to get illegal because your dad and Derek might kill the guy," said Scott. He was completely unsympathetic toward the danger Kyle put himself in with that scenario.

"Not helping, man," muttered Stiles. Scott squeezed his shoulder again.

"That's why we go play. For now, we play. Later, we deal with later. So suit up!" The team captain turned momentary cheerleader. Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Right. The bench has missed me this month," said Stiles. Scott grinned at him.

"If you show up to practice next week, you play next week," he reported. "Rules are rules. I can't play favorites, dude."

"Yeah, yeah," said Stiles. All the same, he started climbing into his uniform. Scott poked at his shoulder and the burn there over the cuts. Stiles considered bleaching his friend's bathroom to screw with his super-senses. Assuming he made it back to Beacon Hills after a weekend with Kyle.

 

***

 

Life on the bench hadn't changed much in the month that Stiles had been gone. It involved a lot of fidgeting, a lot of getting patted on the head for luck as teammates ran out onto the field, and a lot of listening to the coach swear at Scott. All normal.

It was the life behind the bench that was vastly different. Stiles' dad sat in the bleachers not far behind him, with Shawn and Derek both. Stiles wasn't exactly surprised that Jordan wasn't there. He hadn't asked him to show up, not just to watch him sit on the bench. His pride said he didn't want Jordan to show up until he could actually play again, until the rust had shaken off and he was a little closer to back in fighting shape.

The only other significant difference was the appearance of Kyle not long before the ref's whistle. He showed up and sat beside Stiles on the otherwise empty bench as the rest of the team took the field. He faced the bleachers as he brushed shoulders with Stiles.

"I was under the impression you actually played at the games," he said, quiet, like he was dealing in secrets. Stiles wasn't exactly surprised, more annoyed.

"I haven't been at practice for a month and I was on the injured list and wasn't allowed to go this week," Stiles returned. "So I have to sit here this week. I can play next week."

"Ah," said Kyle. He sat quiet for a moment, then leaned toward Stiles to talk again. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry you were hurt. And I'm sorry you didn't get to play tonight. I can understand how frustrating that could be."

The apology and effort at empathy were both the last things Stiles would have ever expected from Kyle. It surprised him enough that he actually looked over at the man to see if they were at all sincere. He stared at Stiles, completely sober and serious about it.

"Wow," was all Stiles could say for a moment. Then he remembered the manners that his parents, Malcolm, and Shawn had all worked very hard to make him learn. "Thanks. I think."

"Yes, I actually meant it," said Kyle. He rolled his eyes and looked out at the bleachers again, probably meeting the glare of the county sheriff and a particular wolf. "Maybe I didn't go about it as you would have liked. But I would never want you hurt."

"I don't see you offering to pay my dad what you paid the brokers," said Stiles. The conversation was making him nervous but he didn't back down, just glanced around to be sure the coach stayed away.

"I don't offer because it won't be accepted," said Kyle. "I don't gamble, Stiles. Not unless it's a sure bet."

"You mean like it's rigged?" Stiles replied. He lost track of the game on the field then, suddenly caught instead on the conversation. Kyle just shrugged.

"Not always," he said over the sound of the crowd cheering somebody winning the face-off. "Sometimes a sure bet just means doing your homework. Enough proof that the cards are stacked in your favor and it becomes stupid not to take the risk."

Stiles stared at him. "Was Judge Wright a sure bet?"

"Well, to put it another way, I'm glad your father filed in Beacon Hills and not in your former husband's hometown instead. He could have, you know. But Judge Parrish would have been a bad bet, all things considered," said Kyle.

For the first time in his life, Stiles began to seriously doubt the system his dad worked to uphold. Conspiracy theories and corrupt judges were things that Stiles knew happened in other places, in big cities, and not in Beacon County. His dad worked hard, all the time, to make sure the local laws were upheld and that was supposed to apply to every level of the system.

It sounded suspiciously like Kyle danced around admitting he bought a judge.

"The thing is, the cards stacked in your favor doesn't mean they favor me at all. You bet against me. Did you lose money again?" Stiles asked.

"Don't know yet," said Kyle with a shrug. He glanced over at Stiles again. "So after the game. If it's not too late, I was thinking we could get dinner before we left town."

"Not hungry," said Stiles. He was lying through his teeth and didn't care if Kyle called him on it. He was reminded too easily of what had happened a week earlier, when he smarted off to Kyle and told the man he had to buy him dinner before he would get anywhere with Stiles. He would starve all weekend if he had to.

"Well, just think about it," Kyle said.

"You're not supposed to be on the bench," Stiles replied, ignoring the order entirely. "Go sit somewhere else. And leave my dad alone, too."

It seemed to amuse Kyle more than anything. "You are bossy."

Stiles shrugged it off. "Get used to it. This is me. You get what you pay for."

He watched as Kyle finally stood and moved away. His dad caught his eye before he looked back to the field and Stiles just shook his head at the concern. He felt shaky from surprise and nerves, but there was no way he would tell his dad what had just happened. It hadn't even started yet and Stiles already knew he was in for a long, miserable weekend.

***


	10. Chapter 10

About half way through the game, Stiles' nerves were getting to him. He had accidentally found a hole in his gloves and kept chewing at it, wearing the leather down just that much further. Coach kept looking at him funny, at one point told him to stop fidgeting. For once their team was winning again - it had been a bad month while Stiles was gone - and the coach viewed the bench warmer as the good luck charm and luck didn't fidget. Stiles wasn't sure how that logic worked because his luck had always bounced his knees and chewed on whatever was in his hands.

Coach figured Stiles was nervous about the game. He couldn't have been more wrong. Stiles didn't want the game to be over because he didn't want to leave town with a stranger. Kyle sat near the front of the bleachers with one entire section separating him from the good sheriff of Beacon Hills and that was too close. Stiles wasn't sure how they would handle an entire weekend in the same house since the plan was that Stiles would stay three nights under the same roof. His dad had been required to clear it with the school and everything because they weren't coming home until Monday morning.

The entire arrangement was a surreal definition of hell.

Hearing a familiar dog bark not far from the field startled Stiles and dragged his attention away from the eminent doom. He was surprised to find Derek, on his leash, barking in Stiles' general direction, from the end of the field beyond the bleachers. Shawn didn't seem to know what to do with the barking wolf but he also seemed to be in an argument with Chloe.

Stiles had only met her a few times but the girl was short, pretty, tiny, and a dark-haired force to be feared. He didn't really like talking around her because she didn't ever seem to listen but that didn't stop her from judging. Shawn getting in an argument with her seemed about on par with a frog taking on a cat. No wonder Derek was having a fit. Out on the field, Scott had stopped to look back at Derek's bark and Stiles tried to wave him back toward the game. He looked from Derek to the coach and then back to his dad. His dad looked confused, and the coach wasn't paying attention, so Stiles left his post on the bench and ran toward his friend and the alpha fiancé. Derek kept quiet at his approach but he paced behind Shawn as much as the leash would allow.

"Why do you even have a dog?" Chloe sounded annoyed.

"I'm watching him for Stiles-" Shawn's defense was interrupted by Stiles' arrival. He looked agitated and seeing Stiles only added to the confusion. "What- get back there. You're on the team-"

"What's going on?" Stiles asked, careful how he approached. Chloe looked a little murderous maybe. Stiles didn't think she could sprout fangs but he didn't feel like pressing his luck, either. "What's wrong with Derek?"

"We don't know," snapped Chloe. "It's your stupid dog. You do something about it."

"Well I'm trying but I have to get back to the bench, soon. Ish. I-" Stiles realized he wasn't being listened to and turned his attention in Shawn. "Seriously, what's going on, man?"

"Nothing, it's fine," lied Shawn, the puppet formerly known as Pinocchio. "Go back to the team."

"They're fine without me on the bench for a minute," Stiles said. Chloe huffed.

"Right. You're probably costing them the game right now," she said. She waved a frustrated hand toward the field. "This is all so important to you, Shawn, and you don't even get it. He's nothing special to the team, just a good luck charm, okay? This is the third day this week you've been out at the sports field-"

"School pride," said Shawn. "And I do happen to like this stuff."

"You never watched any of it on purpose. The entire time we've been together-"

"Hey! Time out!" Stiles put himself between the pair, waved his arms a little. They were all whispering and hissing at each other over the noise of the game. "Can this wait or something?"

"I don't even know what I did," said Shawn. Stiles looked from face to face.

"What'd Shawn do?"

Chloe rolled her eyes. "You want the list?"

Stiles shook his head. "No-"

"Yes?" Shawn said.

"This has nothing to do with anything, but you're different now. You're watching sports now? You swear..."

"Everybody swears," said Stiles, surprised.

"You don't," said Chloe.

"Who do you think taught Shawn to swear?" Stiles replied. " _Everybody_."

"Well, you shouldn't. It isn't right. Kids could hear-"

"Please tell me you're kidding," said Stiles. He got head-butted in the thigh by a wolf just to keep him from going on a rant.

"There's just all these things that aren't the same anymore," said Chloe, frustrated. "And now this thing with your dad-"

"What thing?" Shawn asked.

"We spent all that money on the wedding, on taking care of you this year-"

"Woah-" Stiles had to remind himself to stay quiet, but he wanted to march Shawn the hell away from this conversation. There was no reason to go after Shawn about anything involving money. Not then and there and out of the blue. Chloe was a bit of a mess herself, her makeup was less than perfect and maybe she had cried, but she was still composed enough to show frustration. She shook her head.

"We already spent all that money and now your dad wants the full omega dowry. We don't have it. We just don't. And he won't sign the stupid papers without it."

"Wait, what-" Shawn went pale, all wide-eyes and shock. Stiles hung back, snooping without hesitation because he didn't like what he heard.

"The wedding's off, Shawn. Canceled. We got everything back that we could and your dad's still being an asshole about it. We can't do it," said Chloe. "We don't have the money. And honestly? I can't afford this. What if I can't get into school now? You can't work. Ever. What if I can't make enough money for both of us?"

"The baby-" Shawn sounded gut-punched. Stiles looked around to be sure his coach hadn't seen him yet and would leave them alone. There was no way to save Shawn from the apparent attack of bad news but Stiles didn't want to leave him alone for it. Even Derek shoved a shoulder up against his leg to help shore him up.

"The baby's part of it. I can't afford it. My parents can't..." Chloe shook her head, shrugged. "It's not even my baby. It's just yours."

Stiles caught at Shawn's shoulder because he looked like he was going to fall down. He was watching his friend's life crumble all around him and couldn't do a damn thing to help. And Chloe, the wonderful alpha that she was, didn't look inclined to even try. She just stared at him, worried probably but it was hard to tell because Stiles was a little too angry at her to give her the benefit of the doubt. Then she shook her head and backed away.

"So yeah. That's all I came to say. I figured you should know," she said. Shawn looked like he needed to be sick and didn't say anything so Chloe walked off across the grass toward the parking lot. Stiles turned his attention to Shawn again when he noticed the harsh, hiccuped breaths that came with either a panic attack or a hard cry. Since he didn't know if his friend had problems with panic, he figured either way it was time to leave.

"Come on, buddy. Let's get out of here..."

Between Stiles' and Derek's efforts, they made it to the bleachers and Stiles passed his friend off to his dad. "I'll meet you guys at the car, okay? Gonna get my stuff."

Shawn was still somewhat mentally present and caught him by the arm. "No, your game-"

"There'll be other games, man. It'll be fine, we just gotta get you out of here," Stiles replied. Shawn seemed to appreciate it, even if he was confused. Stiles took Derek's leash and they snuck off at a run to fetch the duffle from Stiles' locker. He knew he had to talk to Finstock but he had to take things one problem at a time.

***

When Scott and Allison broke up, Stiles hadn't actually been mad at Allison for anything. Break ups happened. It was just part of the whole process. There was nothing they really had to worry about, as alphas, when they were only in high school. It was a different story with Chloe and Shawn. Stiles wanted Chloe to walk her way in front of a bus. Maybe a train. She was an alpha. Shawn was actually _trained_ to take care of her, to see to everything she wanted, and Shawn was probably good enough at that job to know what she wanted before she did. They had been courting for two years, stalled the marriage because Chloe needed to finish high school. Shawn had believed her and trusted those plans. He was trained to and he had his whole survival plan for life tied up in that girl and their kid.

And now she was off somewhere else while Shawn had a mental breakdown in the parking lot of their school. Stiles and his dad got him sitting down in the back end of the SUV and Derek played therapy dog, laid down beside him to get his ears scratched. Shawn rambled about the shock, about the plans, about how Chloe didn't mean it and they were still going to work things out. They had to. He was pregnant and in his last semester of high school, he had no time to find a new spouse and there weren't many alphas who would look twice at an omega with a kid.

There was absolutely no way of reassuring him that things would be okay. Stiles saw it on his dad's face clear enough that it wasn't going to work out in Shawn's favor. He had made a play and lost, trusted something he shouldn't have and gambled with a baby in the middle of it all.

"Come on, kid. Let's get you in the car and get you home. If you can sleep it off now, maybe you and Chloe can sort this out in the daylight," the sheriff said, very close to sounding more like a dad for Shawn than a sheriff. Shawn just shook his head.

"I can't. I can't go home. Dad's gonna be mad. Chloe wouldn't have lied. He'll be mad he didn't get the price and I don't know what he's gonna do," said Shawn. Stiles looked up at his dad, alarmed. His friend might as well have just warned him of a crime in progress for all Stiles heard. His dad heard it too.

"Do you think he'll hurt you?" he asked. Shawn seemed to remember then that he was talking to the sheriff and he went quiet, stared at the ground at Stiles' feet. His arms snugged over his rounded belly. The sheriff noticed. "You think he'll hurt the baby."

There was more silence from Shawn, no effort at all to argue his family wasn't that hideous. Stiles knew they weren't nice, knew Shawn was so good in school because he had all the practice at home taking care of his younger siblings. He was the cook and the nanny more than their son, and his family had just missed a bid to make money off of him, too.

"You can stay with us," said Stiles.

"I was actually thinking Melissa," said his dad, stumbling awkwardly at the offer. He looked Stiles in the eye. "You and I still have to go down to Carrington's for the weekend."

That knocked Stiles back a step; he had been caught up enough trying to help Shawn that he hadn't been thinking about Kyle. "Okay, fine, Shawn can come with us," he decided. "The guy is rich, he has to have the room, and if he doesn't then I'll just share my room."

"Not a good idea," said his dad. "And I'm not going in to all the reasons why it's a bad idea right now."

"I know that it's a bad idea but we're going to have Derek and you right there. We'll be fine," said Stiles.

"I'll go," said Shawn. "I just can't go home."

Stiles pointed at Shawn as proof. "See, he's fine with it. Then when we come back on Monday, they can sort it out. But Chloe was pissed off and upset so she's not going to be any help this weekend anyway. We should just get out of town and sort it out when people are calmer."

Stiles' dad wasn't sold on it. Stiles waved a hand back toward the bleachers. "Want me to go ask Kyle?"

His dad narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "No, we'll go ask."

The sheriff ordered Derek to watch Shawn, a halfhearted formality for Shawn's sake, before agreeing to go talk to Kyle. As they crossed the parking lot, his dad caught the back of Stiles' shirt collar, a reassuring leash more than a threat or a restriction, and walked close.

"I don't like this," he said. Stiles nodded but wouldn't abandon their quest back to the stands.

"Okay. Here's the thing. If Scott ditched me and triggered withdrawal, what's Shawn gonna do if he thinks Chloe really dumped him?" he asked. Chloe was Shawn's whole life and it had driven Stiles mad the whole month they had known each other. Now it just made him mad that his friend was being treated so badly by his own family.

"He's going to work through it, like you did," said his dad.

Stiles nodded at him. "Great, except Shawn's got a baby on board. What's withdrawal going to do to the baby girl?"

His dad's steps slowed as he processed the logic. Stiles nodded, caught his dad's jacket to keep him moving.

"So he's gotta stay with friends, and all his friends are Chloe's friends too, except me," said Stiles. "It's easy. We just keep him busy this weekend, keep him away from people who'll remind him of her, and it buys another couple of days. Maybe Chloe and her parents will get it worked out with Shawn's parents while he's gone. It'll work."

The only bump in the road was Kyle and the Stilinskis knew that well enough. The man didn't surprise them, meeting them at the gate with his driver and promptly asking if they had really tried to sneak out. Like they needed the reminder that he knew where they lived. Stiles' dad set that straight with a firm _no_ and Stiles found himself playing peacekeeper to the peacekeeper. He had to step half in front of his dad to keep him back, had to keep his own expression from showing the irritation he felt at Kyle's possessiveness.

"My friend just got dumped, okay? I had to make sure he was okay-"

"You left the game because someone got dumped?" Kyle seemed surprised but he didn't sound rude about it.

"I think we established I was just on the bench. I wasn't missed," said Stiles. He looked out at the field and saw the coach yelling at Scott about something. Stiles wanted to play so badly but he shoved it down and tried to keep focused. He turned his attention to Kyle again.

"I want to take him with us for the weekend," he said. At Kyle's look, he realized there was still information missing. "My friend. I want him to go with us for the weekend. He can't be by himself and he has nowhere else to go. I want him to go with me."

"With us?" asked Kyle.

"With me," said Stiles. "We can go with you, same as planned. But I'm not leaving my friend here."

"I don't have room for another person," said Kyle.

Stiles shook his head. "Yes you do. You've got a limo out there, and your face on the cover of Forbes magazine. You can let me keep my friend with me."

After a moment studying Stiles' face, a slow smile spread across Kyle's. "My face is on the cover of _Forbes_ and you want to negotiate with me?"

That made Stiles think twice. His dad took it as a threat, too, but Stiles knew enough not to let his dad rise to it. He could negotiate better than his dad could afford a lawyer for publicly fighting somebody protected by a judge's order. He had a fistful of his dad's jacket and shoved him back away a step.

"No, I just want to take my friend with me to San Francisco," said Stiles. He changed his tone a little, took it down a notch.

"To my home, not just to San Francisco. At my expense," said Kyle. "So you want something, from me. Right? That's what I'm understanding here?"

Cautious, Stiles hesitated. There was no simple loophole. Stiles was asking a favor, just handing Kyle more power. A big neon sign in his head started flashing " _It's a Trap!_ " But Stiles was in too far to turn back and he wasn't going to risk leaving Shawn and the baby behind and alone in Beacon Hills. He nodded, not sure how to answer that wouldn't otherwise hand Kyle more ammunition against him.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Stiles, but you've so far been a genuine pain in the ass," said Kyle. It was a smug challenge, plain and simple. "You don't have a whole lot to bargain with. If you want something from me, you have to make it worth my while."

"Excuse the hell out of me-" the sheriff of Beacon County took offense to the blatant manipulation and caught at Stiles' shoulder to step around him. Stiles just blocked again as he tried to think. His dad was going to make his life impossible. And that's when it hit him.

"Shawn's my chaperone this weekend," said Stiles quickly. "You have to let him come with us. A chaperone is part of the court order."

"Fine, then your father stays here," said Kyle without missing a single second.

"Not happening," said Stiles' dad. Kyle nodded like he expected it.

"Which means I don't have to open my home to a small party. Two is company, three's a crowd," said Kyle. "Your friend will just have to fend for himself."

That wasn't an option. Stiles shook his head. "No. My dad stays here. I take my dog and Shawn for the weekend. You can't tell me I can't have my dog, so don't even try. Court-appointed therapy dog. He stays with me."

"No," said Stiles' dad even as Kyle agreed to the terms.

It took another five minutes to get his dad to back off. Stiles thought he would have to call in Jordan for reinforcements but even that was a terrifying thought. It would only backfire, even if it would have given him an excuse to see Jordan again. Instead, Stiles just talked his dad down like always and before too long he collected Shawn and Derek.

His dad saw them to the trade-off, watched them climb in a limo, and stayed outside when the driver shut them in. Inside on the bench beside Shawn, Stiles stared out at his dad. He tried to wave before he realized his dad couldn't see inside through the dark-tinted windows.

***


	11. Chapter 11

The limo ride was a first for Stiles, and it even dragged Shawn out of his worries for a little while. They played with buttons and radio stations, traded seats in the moving vehicle without seat belts, chattered at each other and ignored the quiet Kyle. Stiles very intentionally ignored anything Kyle said to him. There was soda and ice water for them, and Kyle had the driver stop and get juice for Shawn, because of the baby.

They hadn't had dinner yet and, about an hour outside of Beacon Hills, they stopped at a steakhouse at a Reservation casino. Stiles wasn't exactly dressed for it, even though he had switched into jeans when he had gone to the locker for his stuff at the school. Kyle made him change out of the jersey there in the limo, much to Shawn's alarm at the sight of still healing knife wounds. Kyle stared and still didn't seem to notice.

At dinner there were no excuses handy to allow Stiles to keep ignoring Kyle. Derek wasn't allowed out of the car, which Stiles wasn't happy about, but they weren't going to risk it. The man caught his hand and hung on to it like a leash again, or he walked with a hand at the back of Stiles' belt to steer him the right way. Shawn saw Stiles' reaction to the hold and stepped in as the formal chaperone.

"You show poor respect to an omega," Shawn informed Kyle at the door. "You aren't married, no one here knows him, and people will think he's your whore."

The broad definition of what made an omega a whore had Stiles tugging his hand loose again. Kyle seemed surprised and allowed it.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes, really," said Shawn. "You aren't engaged. He is not yours. And if your face has really been on the cover of Forbes, some journalist could see you and ruin his reputation with a single photograph."

Stiles could have kissed his friend at the genius but he instead crossed his arms and glared at Kyle.

"So no touching?" Kyle asked. "At all?"

"None. It's disrespectful on the first date, and given that this date is supposed to last three days, you're expected to behave without reproach so no one has cause to worry for his care while he's your responsibility," said Shawn, very firm on that point. Kyle looked at Stiles, didn't seem put-off by the smug glare at all.

"You are going to be expensive, aren't you?" he asked. Stiles opened his mouth to smart back but Shawn beat him to it.

"Okay, if you say something like that again, I'm going to the nearest security guard and we'll wait here for his dad," said Shawn. He wasn't messing around and Stiles had to fight back a surprised laugh at how much his friend had embraced his role as chaperone.

"What did I do now?" Kyle wanted to know.

"I just explicitly told you not to make my friend look like a whore in public and the very next thing you say to him is discussing a price tag? If you can't show respect, we'll leave. That's not very complicated." Shawn crossed his arms over the round tummy that gave him authority to speak on the maintenance of omega purity and reputation. He still had his engagement ring on, too, so no one looking at him would know Stiles didn't have himself an older, wiser family member looking out for him.

It apparently wasn't a gamble that Kyle wanted to take. He held his hands up and backed off a step from Stiles, instead holding the door open for the two teenagers as a call for truce. He looked at Shawn a little more carefully after that, too, a look that turned Shawn's cheeks pink all the way back to his ears. As an omega, speaking up to correct the behavior of an errant alpha wasn't something he was trained to be comfortable with. Stiles followed after his friend, clapped his hands on his shoulders in a playful massage as thanks. Dinner was a lot less annoying than he thought it would be after that useful intervention.

 

***

 

Jordan was tasked with housesitting for his boss while he escorted Stiles down south with Kyle Carrington. It was maybe a little weird to be offered a bedroom if he could clean out a home office over the weekend, but at the same time, it was perfect. It was a way of gaining back territory, physical territory for Jordan anyway, that the court had taken from the Stilinskis and Jordan when they sided with Carrington. He could stay with Stiles, help him deal with whatever bullshit Kyle had unloaded over the weekend, and shore him up for another weekend when it showed up.

He didn't want Stiles to have to go anywhere with that man, but he didn't want to start trouble with Kyle and make things worse. There was a reason Jordan hadn't asked to see Stiles off after the game, just disappeared into the crowd, and that reason had everything to do with Jordan's tendency to light things on fire when they threatened what was his.

It was safer for Jordan and his duffel bag of clothes to camp out at the sheriff's than anything else. His dad opted to keep him company and help with the office renovation plan, so they sent his mom and little brother on their way home that night before Jordan and JT went to the Stilinski's.

They weren't expecting to find the sheriff sitting on his own front porch waiting for them. Jordan told his dad to stay in the car because the sheriff did not look happy. He looked like maybe he had been drinking. That was two strikes against an otherwise unhappy evening.

"Sheriff?" Jordan asked as he walked toward the steps and his boss. "What are you doing out here?"

"Well. I gave you my key for the weekend. So I figured I'd just wait out here until you showed." The sheriff wasn't in uniform and he had a duffel of his own sitting a few feet behind him at the door. He also had a bottle of Tennessee Walker tucked in with a six pack of coca cola in plastic bottles. He was drinking one of the cokes but it was, on closer inspection, at least half whiskey.

"If you're here... Where's Stiles?" Jordan asked. Stiles' dad shook his head, shrugged. Jordan sat down beside his boss, saw that there wasn't much out of the whiskey bottle yet, and helped himself to one of the cokes. That was invitation enough and Jordan's dad let himself out of the truck in the driveway to see what was going on.

"Stiles decided that he can handle it this weekend on his own," said the sheriff. "He put himself and Shawn and Derek in that bastard's car and told me to trust the system. I trust the werewolf before I trust the system, but if Stiles won't let me kill the bastard then he won't let Derek do it, either."

"Why didn't you go with them though?" Jordan asked. He felt the first stages of panic settle in, felt the warning of anger, as his boss explained that Stiles had appointed Shawn his chaperone and Kyle stuck to the court order that guaranteed Stiles a chaperone for all initial visits. Not once in that half hour of legal maneuvering at the courthouse did they specify who the chaperone would be. It was supposed to work in Stiles' favor, so that he could have his dad there or Scott or even Jordan if they needed to make Carrington step back. They had left that loophole off the negotiations on purpose and Kyle drove a truck through it. Jordan looked to his own dad for some kind of help, to keep his temper down.

"He'll be fine," said JT after a moment of silence to compose the lie. "Carrington's got the law on his side and if he wants to keep it that way, he'll behave."

"No, what he's got is a couple of omegas. One of whom is pregnant and single now," said the sheriff. "And the other who he already bought. And if Stiles comes back pregnant too, there's no way the courts will ever let him stay home."

"Hey! Way to jump to the worst case scenario," said JT, quick, and with a warning glance shot at Jordan. That wasn't something Jordan had been worried about until his boss mentioned it. His anger notched up a little higher.

"I'm all over the worst case scenarios, JT. I've been over every single one of them in my head the last two days," said Stiles' dad. He shook his head, capped the coke bottle in his hand, stared up at JT. "Stiles going to Carrington on his own? That was number twenty on the list. You know the other side of everything I'm afraid of. And my hands are tied here. I can't help the kid. If it's not the courts telling me not to do something, it's my kid, and neither one of them shows a shred of logic."

The sheriff's cell phone chirped then and he dug it out of his pocket, stared at the screen. Jordan looked over his shoulder at it. It was a picture of a house, a fancy house all lit up from a thorough security system. Two stories, custom architecture, brick and tall wood beams. And strangely familiar to Jordan. The text from Stiles that accompanied the picture was the report that they had arrived safe and he passed along the address. Jordan shoved himself to his feet, intent on leaving suddenly. His dad blocked his way.

"Have a seat. Gimmie your keys," JT ordered. Jordan kept back but didn't pass over the keys.

"I know where they are," said Jordan.

"Yeah, so does the sheriff, there. Your boss signed all the paperwork, remember," said JT. "He can't show up even though he knows where Stiles is. Neither can you."

Jordan pointed impatiently at the phone. "That house is a block away from your house," he told his dad. "The court can keep his dad from being there maybe but they can't tell me I can't visit my family for the weekend."

The sheriff eyed the phone image and then squinted up at his deputy. "What exactly are you going to do from your house? Stiles isn't there."

"If Carrington gets violent, Stiles can call me and I'm right there," said Jordan. It was perfectly obvious to him and he didn't see what was hard to understand about simple proximity. Two blocks was less of a problem than two hours.

His boss shook his head though, stood up to join the conversation on more equal footing. "It's not that simple. You can't touch Carrington."

Jordan didn't agree. "I can if Stiles needs help. If he hurts Stiles-"

“He won't hurt Stiles,” JT tried to argue.

“He’s already hurt, and you can't just fix it,” interrupted Stiles’ dad, anger obvious. "What society does to these kids is a violent act, Jordan. It beats on them all up from the inside so there's nothing left that isn't programmed. And I tried but I can't protect him from that."

 Frustration made the sheriff raise his voice and Jordan caught the warning. He lowered his voice even though he refused to back down.

"Maybe not but I can get in the neighborhood. If I'm close enough, I can stop that monster-"

His own dad caught him by the shoulder, shook him just enough to get his attention. "You don't get it. The protected ones think _they're_ the monsters, kid. Stiles thinks he's broken, thinks he's broken somehow different than even me. He called himself a _freak_ a week ago. He grew up in the wrong world, and switching tracks to the omega track? It's still _wrong_. Maybe he's gotta sort this one out and this is the chance he has to do it. See what the road is he's afraid of."

"He's afraid of it _because of Carrington_ ," argued Jordan. He stepped away and started toward his truck again. "You two can stay. But I won't."

When he climbed in the cab, he wasn't exactly surprised when he looked back and saw his dad duck around the sheriff to collect the man's duffle bag. As Jordan pulled out of the driveway, he saw his dad pull the Stilinskis' house keys out of a pocket and hand them over to the sheriff.

 

***

 

The grand tour of the mansion was impressive. For a little while, Shawn seemed to forget to frown. Stiles watched his friend like a hawk at Kyle's house, distracting himself from the notion that he could live in a seven bedroom, three story, custom-built home with just a few words. Kyle liked to remind him the mansion was there for the running. The only downside was that it meant giving up on everything Stiles wanted for himself, living with and marrying the man who _bought_ him. _Big_ downside.

Shawn didn't have that reservation though. He walked around wide-eyed, slack-jawed, and in absolute awe. He didn't notice the keyless entry doors - every door had a number keypad and Kyle wasn't forthcoming with the code - or the security cameras in the corners. Kyle was a rich man, a private citizen, and a very paranoid one. Stiles didn't have a lot of sympathy for it but he didn't point any of it out or interfere with Shawn's enjoyment of it. The house was huge, expensive, and Stiles would have loved it if it belonged to anyone other than Kyle Carrington, the guy with the framed copy of a fancy business magazine on the wall with his face on the cover.

The only warning Kyle gave about the house was that there was no back fence, that it dropped right off into the ocean. He advised against letting Derek off the leash at night. Stiles somehow didn't laugh at the man's basic stupidity about a wolf's intelligence. All the same, the tour included a brief jaunt outside so that the dog didn't make a mess in the house. Derek grumbled what was probably a complaint about life on a leash.

"I don't know what you're complaining about," Stiles pointed out. "I'm the one that has to watch you take a crap so it's not like that's the highlight of my day, either." He had never seen a wolf-face so effectively glare before and because it was Derek's wolf-face, Stiles actually choked on a laugh.

It was late so the tour ended at the guest rooms. Derek seemed torn between following Shawn and staying with Stiles, which worried Stiles a little, but Shawn insisted he was fine on his own. Derek huffed at him for it but let the door shut behind the pregnant omega. He started sniffing around the floor outside the door and up along the hall as far as the leash would allow and conveniently wandered between Stiles and Kyle. The man had behaved himself since Shawn had lectured him back at the restaurant and with him gone to bed, Derek stepped up as chaperone. Stiles loved his friends. The look on Kyle's face said he didn't. Stiles met it with all the innocence he could muster.

"You said Shawn and I got our own rooms," Stiles said, an attempt to steer the evening to a close. Kyle nodded, a clever smile on his stupid face, and waved Stiles down the hall another few doors. The goal was a set of double doors at the end of the hall, which Stiles was positive meant that it wasn't the guest room. He stepped shamelessly behind Derek and followed anyway.

"We can consider this part of the tour," Kyle said as he set his shoulder to the door and pushed them open. "Or you can consider it yours. That's up to you."

With Kyle's offer hardly finished, Derek stopped in the door and sat down. He blocked Stiles' easy entrance and grumbled his opinion of the tour; the wolf was clearly done exploring. Stiles wasn't stupid, he knew a master bedroom when he saw one, but his curiosity wasn't going to let him ignore the offer to look around. He kept quiet, sidestepped Derek, and peeked into the room.

The bedroom was huge, three times the size of Stiles' room back home. It was mostly windows and looked out on the ocean, with the city skyline lit up far away and off to the side. Marble lined a fireplace in the wall and wound along the edges of the room, breaking up the carpet into different colors and leading a path off to a door that went to a bathroom. Like the rest of the house, it was impressive. It definitely wasn't the guest room, given that Shawn's room was hardly half that size and there was certainly no marble pathways in the floor.

Standing just inside the door, Stiles looked around the room, tucked his hands in his jeans pockets to be sure he couldn't break anything. After a moment, he nodded in game approval and turned his attention to Kyle.

"Nice," he said, attempting polite. He looked Kyle in the eye then. "So this is your room. Where's mine?"

"Yes, it is my room," said Kyle. He waved toward the centerpiece of the room, the king size bed done up in burgundy and black and tan like the carpet. Stiles recognized his own duffel tucked along the edge of the bed, which was not something he wanted to find. He glared at Kyle but the man just waved at the room again as he shrugged out of his suit jacket. "And as you can see, there is more than enough room for the both of us. You can stay in here with me for the weekend."

The annoyance was wearing on him and Stiles scowled, patience thin. He had either dealt with the man's agenda or dreaded it all night and he wasn't going to be able to handle a whole weekend of it. His hands tightened on the leash he didn't want to be holding anyway as Derek edged toward the duffle bag with bared teeth.

"You get that I don't want to be in this house at all, right?" Stiles asked.

"You should understand that these weekends aren't just for you, Stiles," said Kyle. He waved toward the open door behind Stiles. "It's not a refugee camp for your friends. This is my _home_. You are a guest. I shouldn't have to remind an omega to give the respect due their host."

"With all due respect then, you should know, I don't want to be here," said Stiles, the sarcasm in his tone just enough to be noticed. He tried to step it back to be more polite. He wasn't trying to start a fight but he wasn't going to let Kyle's expectations for the weekend get out of hand. "I would like to stay in a guest room of my own. If that's not possible, I would like to borrow a pillow and I'll sleep on the floor in Shawn's room."

"You can have your own room."

"Then why is my stuff in this one?"

"Because this one is mine, and the general idea is to find out if we can share space peacefully," said Kyle. "Maybe it's a long term goal but we have to start somewhere."

"Not in your bedroom," said Stiles. "My long term goals don't include this place at all. I want to finish school. I want to go to college. I want to be a cop. That's all in Beacon Hills."

"You don't have a very firm handle on reality, do you?" Kyle had moved from annoyed to mad and it was clear in his voice, in the way his lips flattened out and his jaw set, not to mention the frustrated way he shoved his hands in his pockets. Stiles could have provoked a fight without trying then, could have pushed Kyle to grab him like he had done with the hunters. Then he could defend himself, throw a punch like he wanted to, or let Derek cause damage. But the problem was that there were no witnesses around, just another omega and a wolf. It would be a breach of the court orders. People would get in trouble. So Stiles shoved the insult back and tried to let it go.

"I'm tired. It's been a busy day. Please show me to my room," said Stiles, the words hard to strangle out as he forced himself to be polite.

"I don't think you're giving this a fair shot," said Kyle. "You're not even trying. Your mind is made up. This is not why the judge made those orders."

Safe behind a pissed-off wolf, Stiles had to laugh at the whiny rich boy's complaint that life wasn't fair.

"I'm pretty sure you're the guy who had me kidnapped, beat up, and then used me as a human shield against _actual_ fire," said Stiles. "How exactly do you define a fair shot? If it was fair to me, I'd set the house on fire, alright? See who shows up to let you out before everything burns down."

 There was a flash of anger on his face but it disappeared behind Kyle’s usual look of arrogant superiority. He took a step closer and Stiles didn’t exactly flinch, but he just barely managed to keep himself from retreating. Derek’s wolfy ears pinned back to his wolfy head. The standoff lasted only seconds but it might as well have been a declaration of war. Neither of them would forget how badly they wanted to hit the other right across the jaw in that moment because The Rules said they couldn’t. For the first time all week, The Rules were working in Stiles’ favor more than against him, because he knew well enough there was no way to justify himself if a fight broke out and a werewolf killed the rich bastard.

“Let me show you to your room then,” said Kyle. He held his hands out to his sides, humoring the wolf by moving slowly, and cautiously collected Stiles’ bag from the end of the bed. He passed it to Derek rather than to Stiles and, to Stiles’ surprise and irritation, the wolf took the bag and then bodily shoved Stiles backwards out the door to clear Kyle’s path.

Without further commentary, Kyle led the way down the hall again, back to the room they had left Shawn in. He held open the door immediately across from Shawn’s in invitation. Derek and the duffle bag shoved their way in first and Stiles started to follow, only to have the leash yanked out of his hand the second the wolf was clear of the door. It was pulled shut before Derek could get wise and Stiles was shoved back against the doorframe. Back at the house in the woods, Kyle had shoved him, held on in an obvious threat. This time, the man held an arm to Stiles’ collarbone to pin him against the hard edge, kept him eye to eye. That was all he did for a moment, just stared as the wolf on the other side of the door scratched at the wood and growled.

“I am totally not responsible for what happens when you open that door,” said Stiles. It was a challenge to break the staring contest. “You locked him in. He knows that trick. He hates that trick.”

“I’ll let you open the damn door then,” said Kyle. “But I want your attention for two damn minutes.”

“You’ve got it. I’m here, aren’t I? I should be at home. I bailed on a game to be here-”

“No, you bailed on the game for your friend. I was just the taxi,” said Kyle.

“You said it, not me,” replied Stiles, not about to argue that bit of truth.

“You are the most willful omega I’ve ever met.”

Stiles scoffed at him for the observation. “I thought that’s why you bought me.”

“Yeah, and I assumed you had the brains to make the willfulness worthwhile,” returned Kyle. “But it’s disappointing so far.”

“Right.” It took a lot of effort not to laugh in his face, but Stiles managed. The sass must have shown on his face because Kyle shoved at him again.

“If you had any sense, you’d see that I’m offering you more than you’re ever going to get anywhere else. Not with some cop, and not with omega friends and guard dogs,” Kyle said. He was serious, the anger banked under the more obvious frustration that he wasn’t understood. “I get it, you’re pissed about the brokers. Fine. But get the hell over it. I’m trying to fix it. Just grow up, Stiles. There is no fairytale origin for our story, there doesn’t have to be. You’re like some little kid, crying because you didn’t get your way right from the start. Tough shit, kid. I can literally offer you the world. We can hop a plane and be _anywhere_ by morning. Where you start isn’t as important as where you end up. And you’re just going to stand there and piss all over any effort I make to fix it.”

Despite himself, Stiles listened to the words thrown in his face. He couldn’t help it. The last month of his life had been spent listening to people tell him how badly he had screwed up, how wrong he was in his view of the world. People he had been taught to respect - teachers, friends, his dad’s officers, even lawyers and judges - had gone out of their way to let him know he had a place in the world that he was supposed to adhere to and disappear in. That place, Stiles knew, was not somewhere Stiles wanted to be. But he had started paying attention when people tried to correct his viewpoint because it was easier to play along with what they wanted sometimes than it was to wage a war against a world he didn’t fit in with.

Now Kyle pointed out very clearly that Stiles was being unreasonable, unomega, unnatural. There was an expected course of action and the peaceful thing would be for Stiles to actually abide by it. He should do the peaceful thing, he knew. There was a werewolf growling on the other side of the door, and another omega more helpless than him just across the hall, hopefully trying to sleep. It occurred to Stiles that if Derek made too much more noise, Shawn would hear him and come to investigate. Everything would go so wrong if his friend got involved.

Rather than risk it, Stiles shoved at the arm across his collarbone and tried to edge along the wall to get away from the hold. Kyle leaned a little heavier to keep him pinned.

“What am I supposed to do?” Stiles said, just above a whisper and angry. He tugged at the offending arm. “You do _this_ when you don’t get your way. You wanna tell me to grow up? Check a mirror sometime.”

“If you’d just listen the first time, I wouldn’t have to get your attention-” Kyle’s effort at deflecting only made Stiles mad.

“Then say something worth listening to in the first place-”

The brewing fight would have easily escalated but for the loud screech of a text message alert. It sounded like the _‘Whoop!’_ of a police siren. It got Kyle’s attention.

“What was that?” he asked.

“My dad. Calling me,” said Stiles. Because lying was a thing he was really good at. To sell it, he shoved at Kyle again and started digging in a pocket for his phone. Kyle actually backed off, sour and still angry. He didn't seem interested in the fight anymore though. Stiles held his phone up to his ear quickly before letting himself into the guest room with the dog growling on the other side of the door.

 

***


	12. Chapter 12

The highway wasn't all that busy. It was a Friday night, which meant crowds headed for adventure outside of the sleepy Beacon Hills, but in the middle of February, driving in the rain was less than ideal. It was a few days after the full moon now, too, so that helped; more people stayed home after dark. Jordan pushed the speed limit and didn't have to worry too much about other drivers. He didn't want to worry about any of them. Instead, he worried about Stiles.

Exactly what the sheriff was thinking letting a couple of omegas go off on their own with someone who willingly did business with brokers, Jordan would never understand. Stiles was at a huge risk, even if Derek was with him, and a wolf could only do so much. A wolf could be immobilized with a tranq or a shotgun or a semi-auto and Jordan knew well enough that Kyle Carrington and his driver carried those.

Jordan told himself that it wasn't because he didn't think Stiles could defend himself. His concern was because Stiles wasn't used to that whole world. Rich people, alphas, the criminal element; whatever world angle he looked at it from, Stiles was out of his league. Even Derek couldn't know what he had walked into. It wasn't the world of Werewolves and Whatevers. It was the world of humans being shitty to other humans, and that changed all the rules.

Movement caught Jordan's attention off his left front fender. It was hard to make out, just a vague shape ahead and above the level of the truck. The headlights of an oncoming car flashed by for just a moment and Jordan thought he saw feathers reflect the yellow light.

"Oh crap..." Jordan started looking around for a place to pull over. Black birds lately came with a disconnect from reality that was wholly dangerous while driving on the highway at 70mph.

This time, though, the blackout didn't come. Jordan heard the Ravens chattering and screeching outside the truck, saw the wings flapping in a tangle as a single bird morphed into a dozen. The avian escort lasted for ten minutes, sometimes obscuring the view out the window, but the world around him never shifted sideways or disappeared. He stayed in the cab of his truck.

The oddity of it all was that in ten minutes time, going only the speed limit according to his speedometer, Jordan somehow cleared an hour's drive. The dark night was broken by city lights as the ravens one by one disappeared. He found himself at the exit toward his parents' home in a record time and he had no explanation for it at all. Just the damn birds.

Rather than argue it or overthink it, Jordan got off the freeway at the usual place and navigated the back roads out of the city to the quieter suburbs.

He soon discovered that he had arrived at his mom's house before her. It was a three hour drive from Beacon Hills. With no explanation to offer her as to why he saw her off from his place only an hour earlier and yet beat her home, Jordan prowled the neighborhood instead. He found the house that Stiles had sent the picture of. Everything was dark inside, just a few upstairs windows lit up. There was a gate and a property fence to deal with but Jordan saw a dozen ways in just at a glance.

He pulled out his phone and texted Stiles to find out where he was and if he was okay. The answer came back, "at Kyle's. Today sucks."

Jordan wanted to surprise him suddenly, to show up and make the day not so terrible somehow. It was hard to justify it though. Nothing in Stiles' response said he was in trouble.

So Jordan sat in the truck at the top of the rise, overlooking the property that sat on the cliff's edge over the ocean. And he called Stiles.

***

Hearing Jordan’s voice didn't actually make Stiles feel better. If anything, he wanted to fight more. He and Derek had backup. Derek was stuck silent, a wolf curled up in front of the door on a pile of clothes Stiles dug out from a closet. He didn't want to know why they were all about his size, he just wanted to use them as bedding for the guard dog. The guard dog was pissed off but silent and glaring at the far wall of the room. He had no wolfly wisdom to offer up, couldn’t rant about how Kyle was an ass that needed kicked into next Tuesday. No, make that next _month_.

Jordan could give voice to those things with Stiles, though. He had someone on his side even if it was just a connection through a phone in his hand. It meant a lot, but it wasn't enough, either.

“This is gonna be a long weekend,” Stiles realized. Jordan huffed into the phone and agreed.

“Mine, too. I’m supposed to be back at work Monday morning, but I don’t think your dad will say anything if I don’t make it back up there until you’re back in town,” said Jordan.

“Wait, you’re not at home?” asked Stiles, surprised. “You were supposed to watch the house-”

“Your dad’s home. I don’t need to housesit-”

“Then where are you? If you’re not in Beacon Hills, I mean. Because it sounds like you just said you’re not...”

There was a long, guilty quiet after that. Stiles checked the phone to be sure it was still connected. “Jordan? Hey, JBear, where’d you go...”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Jordan admitted finally. Stiles was confused by the reluctance. It didn’t last long. “I mean, I’m really here. I’m just up the road. I can see the asshole’s house.”

“Right now?” asked Stiles. “Like, you’re right outside and I could just go see you-”

“No, you can’t just go see me. Don’t get in trouble with-”

“I’m a willful freakin’ omega. I’ll do what I want,” said Stiles. That caught Derek’s attention and the wolf’s ears perked up, he peeked at Stiles from the corners of his eyes. Another moment passed and Stiles thought about it a heartbeat longer. Then he made up his mind and ended the call. Not another word was said. He didn’t want to give Jordan a chance to try to talk him out of it. Stiles grabbed his jacket off the ridiculous ornate bedpost he had tossed it on earlier. He waved Derek away from the door as he shrugged back into it.

“Lemme out,” he whispered. “I’ll be back in a little while. Just stay here and make sure nobody hassles Shawn. Please?”

The wolf looked a little annoyed but he sat up, which was just enough for Stiles to get the door shoved open. He didn’t latch it behind him, barely closed it at all, so that Derek was sure to be able to get out if he needed to. Out in the hall, the master bedroom doors were closed again. Everything was quiet. Stiles let himself back downstairs and to the door he had taken Derek outside through earlier. He got a few steps running start and caught the edge of the brick wall that served as a fence around the massive property’s backyard.

For the first time in months, Stiles was sneaking out. He hadn’t bothered to in over a year because his dad had been let in on all of the secret lives of all the weird stuff in his town, so he stopped even asking why Stiles would walk out the front door at nearly midnight on a school night. Usually he asked if they needed backup, and he always seemed relieved when Stiles said Scott and Alison could handle it. Now, his dad wasn’t around, and Kyle would probably have a much different reaction to catching Stiles sneaking out in the middle of the night. Accordingly, Stiles stuck to the edge of the fenceline and tried to stay in the shadows, because he was certain somebody like Kyle would have the world’s most ridiculous security system. Hopefully the cameras were more worried about who was sneaking into the house than how they could be sneaking out of it.

Sure enough, outside the gates and up the hill from Kyle’s house, sat Jordan’s truck. And behind the wheel sat Jordan. He got out of the truck to meet Stiles with a strong hug and for a moment it felt perfect. Then came the questions. The “Are you okay?” And the “No, really, are you hurt?” were concerned, of course, but Stiles heard Kyle's possessiveness and recoiled from the care.

“I’m fine,” he reported more than once. He got frustrated and decided to prove it by pushing Jordan back against the front fender of his truck and kissing him into silence. That distraction seemed to work just fine, for the both of them.

It was an hour before Stiles went back to Carrington’s gilded cage to play jail bird. He crept in the backdoor the same way he had snuck out. A raid of the kitchen cupboards was only partially because he was hungry, mostly because he wanted an excuse of some kind to throw in Kyle’s face if he got caught sneaking back up the stairs. Stiles went back up to “his” room with a glass of milk so he would have something to literally throw in Kyle’s face if the man decided to alpha all over his existence. He was actually disappointed that he had to drink it later.

***


	13. Chapter 13

The next morning, Shawn tried to talk Stiles into making breakfast for their gracious host. It was the right thing to do. It was the omega thing to do. It was the thing someone who was used to waking up at an ungodly early hour to take care of other people would do. The only reason Stiles groggily accepted Shawn at his bedroom door making such a ludicrous suggestion was that Shawn looked like he hadn't slept at all. He looked miserable, shadows under his eyes, cheeks sunken and hollow. He said he was fine when Stiles asked if he was sick but the wolf nose in the room was quickly buried in a pile of clothes, which Stiles interpreted to mean it was a lie. When Shawn was close enough, Stiles could smell the lie himself.

“Dude. You’re sick,” said Stiles. “You smell like puke.”

Shawn looked horrified. “Shit, I do? I was trying to be careful-” He checked his shirt. Stiles let him in the room and went to find his clothes for the day.

“It's on your breath. What’s wrong?” He shrugged into a shirt - nicer than his usual weekend because his dad wouldn't let him wear anything his lawyer couldn't defend in court - and started digging through his bag for clean socks without hardly taking his attention off Shawn. His friend shook his head.

“Nerves I think.”

“Are you sure? What about the baby?”

“She's okay. I think.” Shawn shook his head, stared down at his hands as he smoothed his baggy shirt. “I’m okay. I just... need to stay busy. I need to do something. I don't know what I'm gonna do. I've been working it over all night and I just get stuck... I put my whole life into Chloe-”

“Hey. Forget about it, man,” said Stiles, quick to try to derail that line of thought. He went to the closet and found something that looked like it might fit Shawn. The first find was rejected as soon as it was found and then replaced with something that looked like it would hide the baby belly a little better. It was passed over to Shawn. “Chloe is gonna come around. You gotta keep your head.”

“What if-”

“Okay! We’re gonna go make breakfast. No more thinking,” and Stiles meant it. He started waving his hands to encourage Shawn to change his shirt. If he had to make his friend take care of himself, well, it wouldn't be the first time that had ever happened. Werewolves were more stubborn than Shawn would ever be. (Stiles missed werewolves.) It was also a lot easier to think about Shawn’s problems than his own. He and Shawn could make Shawn and the baby breakfast and Kyle could fuck off.

 

***

 

The ungrateful Kyle Carrington was less than impressed by the meal the two omegas managed to pull together before he woke up. Stiles refused to consider that maybe the man was cranky because he hadn't exactly followed social custom, the unruly omega who had served himself a plate and was halfway through eating by the time Kyle came downstairs.

Also there was the small matter of Derek the wolf also eating from a plate in the dining room. Before Kyle had his own plate. But Stiles thought that was an overreaction entirely because it wasn't like Derek had been seated at the table when Kyle walked in. Shawn was mortified and apologetic, in contrast to Kyle, who was somewhere between murderous and unsurprised. Either way, the lack of manners spoiled his whole view of the meal.

_Oops?_

It had been a damn masterpiece in Stiles’ opinion. And Derek didn't complain, either. They had that going for them.

 

***

 

In the interests of fairness, after having badly and intentionally disrespected Carrington that morning, Stiles didn't argue when the man outlined his plans for their morning in San Francisco. It helped that he didn't suggest leaving Shawn out of it, so Stiles could pretend that the rich man’s efforts at winning his affections were really a group effort at cheering up Shawn. The other omega had never been to the city, so the tourist traps that had lost their shine the last time Stiles had seen them seemed a little welcoming again; the change in perspective was important.

Kyle did make him agree to leave Derek at the house, however, because the dog was just a dog and would be in the way in the city. Stiles almost put up a fight about it, but then he remembered that Jordan was just up the road, waiting for some sign, some way to help out. It was suddenly a great idea to leave Derek at the house, because then Derek could hang out with Jordan and follow them around the city unnoticed. If Kyle figured out that they were being followed, so what? Jordan and his cousin were allowed to explore the city.

Coincidences happened all the time.

Tucked up in his room looking for clothes that didn't look “cooked in” by Kyle’s standards, Stiles had a brief, one-sided conversation with himself in the presence of the wolf on the matter of the “police-trained therapy dog” being left in isolation “at the house” and they came to the mutual agreement that Derek would be “locked in the backyard.” With the backpack that held his clothes. Despite the wet fog and the cold.

Nobody in the house noticed when the exiled wolf with the pack trapped in his jaws jumped the fence to disappear up the hill. When they left the house a half hour later, they didn't notice the car that followed them out to the freeway and into the city, either.

With Shawn in the front seat of Kyle’s sports car (because he was a little too round to squeeze into the back like Stiles could) there was a safe buffer zone between Stiles and his current Enemy Number One, so things were peaceful even without Derek’s presence. Stiles texted his friends and kept them informed on where they were going. Shawn attempted polite though occasionally strangled conversation with their host, rambled about the myth of San Francisco and how appreciative he was for the chance to see it. Kyle complained that Stiles was on the phone too much but was otherwise not being a problem. When he intentionally - rudely - mentioned stopping by the bar where he and Stiles had first “met”, however, Stiles put serious thought into strangling him at a traffic light again.

And Shawn, because he was a naive badass, corrected Kyle and flatly put him in his place because no one who meets an omega in a bar has any respectable intentions toward them. Safe in the cramped shadows at the back, Stiles had to bite his fist to keep from laughing when the very pregnant omega in the front passenger seat went on to give Kyle a lecture on the acceptable sexual expectations and responsibilities of omegas in modern society. Apparently, according to common omega culture, the only omegas who trolled the bar scene were those whose spouses could not provide them with children, and really, bars were nothing more than handy sources for genetic donors.

“I don't want kids,” argued Kyle. “And I wasn't shopping for an omega. I was there for a drink.”

“Then next time you go for a drink, don't come back with an omega shopping list you take to the brokers,” returned Shawn. “That’s how you get babies. If you don't want babies then don't try to hook up with omegas you meet in bars. Given your tax bracket, it's just begging for a paternity lawsuit.”

Kyle scowled at the windshield. “I don't want kids.”

“Then you don't want an omega. Maybe you should reassess your expectations of your current situation if you don't want kids, because omegas kind of don't have a lot of choice in the matter,” said Shawn. There was a resignation to his tone, and his words sobered Stiles’ good mood instantly. “That includes Stiles. It only takes one time and-”

“I don't want kids,” Stiles interrupted.

“There, you see?” Kyle motioned toward Stiles given their apparent agreement on something for once. Shawn just shrugged and shook his head.

“Then you’re both fucked unless you find yourselves infertile wives. Because guys who fuck omegas get kids,” said Shawn. “Whether they _know_ it or not, that's another matter.”

He was completely unsympathetic to the worldviews he threatened with the matter-of-fact announcement, and for Stiles it was all the more jarring because Shawn didn't usually drag up f-bombs when he played with learning how to swear. For Shawn, it was reality. He was just being real, because he was surrounded by a very miserable reality in that moment.

For Stiles, sitting in the car with a man who had stalked him from a blind encounter in a bar, it was terrifying. He reached for his phone, looking for a lifeline out of the very tiny space and the threatening panic. He knew Jordan was driving but sent him a text anyway.

His “I _don't want kids._ ” text message was met with the sheriff deputy’s auto-reply message informing him that Jordan was driving and would see and respond to the message when he arrived safely at his destination. That wasn't exactly helpful. Stiles started gnawing on a fingernail as his distracted gaze tracked their progress into the city outside the car windows.

 

***

 

After the conversation in the car, things became impossibly more grating between Stiles and his legally protected captor. Stiles was mildly afraid Kyle might contaminate him with something, and Kyle, likewise, didn't go near Stiles out of apparent fear of the same thing. It added a whole new level of irrational to their DOA court-appointed relationship; it wasn't like neither of them knew where babies came from to begin with, but having someone apply the context to _their_ situation was somehow a wake up call. The next person to tell Stiles to give Kyle a chance would probably get kicked in the groin, because there was no way Stiles would ever accidentally or otherwise let that man dictate control over his own body. One screw up and Stiles was stuck with a kid and all the risks that meant for him.

At the same time, Shawn was on a whole new level of brave to Stiles, somehow able to have voluntarily let someone knock him up on the gamble that there would be someone there for him. Stiles knew his own health wasn't something he could trust Kyle with, let alone any potential, accidental, child’s health. Sex couldn't be that much fun to end up in danger. And then there was Shawn, pregnant and alone, in another city, with just Stiles to back him up against whatever could be dug up by a man who did business with omega brokers. Stiles stuck to his friend like glue through every tourist trap and fine dining experience they had that day.

He was also more polite towards Kyle, far less combative and less interested in risking a fight on his own. It wasn't smart and Kyle had shown his own ignorance of simple cause and effect so Stiles didn't want to just compound the interest. The man became a non-entity, a _coward_ who wasn't worth the effort of engaging with. And Stiles had already been through too much in his young life to tolerate cowards. He followed Shawn’s example and tried to keep the peace. Amusingly, though, Kyle seemed more careful, too.

When they found themselves in line for the ferry to Alcatraz, however, the two teenagers stared at the adult in open judgement.

“Are you kidding me right now?” asked Stiles. “I'm here under _court order_ and you think a few hours in a haunted _prison_ is a good date idea?”

“You need to calm down,” said Kyle. He went from mildly amused to irritated in zero-point-five seconds and it was aimed directly at Stiles. “And you can just get over yourself. This isn't about you. It isn't some conspiracy to remind you of your place. It's San Francisco. It's a thing tourists _do_. And your dad - your court-ordered chaperone who was _supposed_ to be here - is law enforcement, right? A sheriff. Sheriffs watch over _prisons_. I thought he would have some interesting perspectives on this one.”

As explanations go, it wasn't the worst. And he seemed to mean it. Shawn carefully nudged Stiles’ elbow and gave him _the look_ , the one that usually was meant to inform him that he was, in fact, being crazy. Stiles didn't think he was being crazy, he figured he knew what that felt like pretty well and he was nowhere near it. But maybe they were right. Maybe he was just too close. Maybe haunted prisons made a great first date to a normal person. He held up his hands in mild surrender but he didn't apologize.

“Fine,” was all he said. “We go talk to ghosts then. But if I snap and start talking to demons, you get Shawn the hell home and you call my dad.”

Kyle let out a dismissive scoff of laughter. “What the hell-”

“I have had some _really_ bad experiences with ghosts, okay? Just leave it at that,” Stiles replied. The normal, rational, never-been-possessed-by-a-tree-ghost Shawn was a little alarmed by the confession.

“Maybe it's not a great idea,” he began. Stiles bit his lip and scowled at the ticket counter. A very familiar backside could be seen at the window. Off to the side stood Derek, in his sunglasses despite the fog. Stiles gave a short laugh of his own and shook his head. He had heard that they locked people on these tours in the cells. _And_ they turned out the lights. So people could experience what the world’s most dangerous felons and creepers had to feel as prisoners on an island. Stiles wanted a cellmate for a few minutes to make everything right again. Jordan would be _perfect_ for that job.

“No, it's fine. We’ll go. I’ll be fine.”

The two men with him accepted the assurance, Kyle waved them ahead to keep an eye on them, and they were off to the island. Stiles made sure Jordan and Derek were in line for the same boat and tried not to get antsy or piss off Kyle for the rest of the ride.

 

***

 

As hometown tourist attractions went, Jordan had never really minded Alcatraz. It was a good reminder of what not to do, as a human or as a police officer, either one. Plus the ghost stories were cool.

Well. At least, maybe at one time, a few years earlier, they had been. Now, as some kind of fire-starter monster of unknown origins, Jordan wasn't so sure he was a fan. The island felt eerie, cold and windy and yet somehow different than the piers they had left. The ocean birds and crows calling back and forth didn't help it any at all. It was a dry static, something that just hung on the air and set all the little hairs on edge along the back of Jordan's neck. He looked to Derek but couldn't read anything from his friend behind the sunglasses. As a werewolf, he should have had a whole array of sensory perceptions of the island, but he was certainly not interested in sharing them, whatever they might have been. He tracked Stiles easily enough, though, so Jordan followed his lead.

Stiles and his friend both sported new jackets from one of the high end boutiques that held down the piers. Jordan didn't want to consider how much they cost. The plan had been that Stiles wouldn't be accepting gifts from Carrington, just in case the man tried to use them against him later; apparently tourist trap coats didn't count. There were some things that could occasionally remind Jordan without doubt that Stiles was still a teenager, beguiled by shiny objects and price tags. This deviation from the plan made it harder to keep tabs on him, though. He and his friend wore the same hooded jackets as everyone else. Jordan missed the red lacrosse hoodie. He missed Stiles, too, but part of that he knew was worry.

So Jordan stood at the back of the tour they were on, pretended to listen to the docent's stories that he had already heard three times in his life. He thought he knew where Stiles was just by proximity to Carrington, and for the sake of the slowly burning jealousy and anger he felt about that piece of scum, Jordan intentionally avoided looking in their direction. Instead he looked over the edge of a sidewalk railing, down a floor at the barred window of what was probably at one time the workshop; it had been too long and Jordan couldn't remember the island layout, and he wasn't paying attention to it this trip.

The location suddenly became important, though, because the sun disappeared somewhere behind the fog. Jordan felt himself fade out under it, too , and fought to keep present. He thought he grabbed hold of the railing but he couldn't be sure. He swirled with the dark cloud he found himself in and was a moment later standing in a narrow hallway. This wasn't the school at least, but it certainly wasn't the old prison he had just left. Rather than fight with the rational part of his brain that reminded him he wasn't normal, Jordan started looking around for something familiar. Something he could use. Some explanation to go along with the vision.

Someone let out a scream, someone young and male. There was another clamour of noise as someone started pounding on a door or a hollow wall. Jordan started to go toward the sound but his attention was instead caught at the other end of the hall. The ground rocked beneath his feet a bit, like it too was hollow, as a man wearing a shoulder holster lumbered past him. He was somewhat familiar but Jordan couldn't place him. He went to one of the doors and opened it, so Jordan followed to look inside. There was another scream, this one merging from human to something more like the screech of an angry crow. He learned why as he saw what was inside.

“He needs a hospital!” Stiles shouted at the man. Stiles was quite literally locked inside a metal dog kennel. Three kennels lined two walls, each covered in its own blanket aside from the front with the padlock, while the other two walls had mattresses and blankets on the floor. Human eyes peeked through the bars on the front of four kennels, their scared owners sniffling behind folded up knees. The worst part, aside from having heard Stiles’ voice quite clearly, was when Jordan caught sight of his own father kneeling beside one of the mattresses to check on the human-shaped lump of blankets there.

“Where is he at?” The stranger in the doorway demanded of Jordan’s dad. JT shook his head.

“He’s in _pain_ -”

The stranger again ignored the unasked for opinion. “Do you know what stage he's at, yes or _no_?”

JT somehow went blank faced, not emotionless but not as angry as Jordan thought he should be. “He seems to be still a four.”

“That doesn't matter! He needs a hospital!” came Stiles’ voice again from one of the metal boxes in the small room.

“Someone will see to him when he's at two,” said the stranger, and that was the end of it. He pulled back the door so fast that Jordan startled. He felt the man shove into him - somehow- and fell back a few steps into the shadows. There was another shout from the room beyond - Stiles, angry - and then the flapping wings of birds.

When Jordan could see again, he saw daylight. And Derek. And a crowded sidewalk full of people ignoring him where he had fallen near a trash can. Derek knelt in front of him, a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“What happened?” he asked. Jordan shook his head, still trying to sort out which way was up in the scope of reality. As the sights, sounds, and scents of the place started to line up with expectation, the jumbled images in his mind started to make some form of sense. He caught at Derek’s arm and used it as an anchor to be sure he kept his balance as he stood.

“Trouble,” he croaked. “Where’s Stiles?”

***


	14. Chapter 14

There was no trouble at Alcatraz island. Just a flurry of text messages that seemed to piss off Kyle. Shawn kept his head down, mostly stared at his phone during the tour, and not once did he receive a text or a phone call. It was a stark contrast to Stiles’ phone and, out of respect for his friend’s emotional state rather than for Kyle’s, Stiles eventually muted his phone. Something had happened, Jordan had seen something new, but he couldn't explain it over text message, so there was nothing Stiles could do about any of it anyway. He promised to meet him later that night, back at Jordan’s house, the second he could get away. And Jordan promised that until they went home, he and Derek would be watching Stiles and his friend like hawks. Stiles chose to see that as adorable and protective rather than creepy and stalkerish, under the circumstances. Of all the stupid things to put a smile on his face...

It was another couple of hours before they made it back to Kyle’s place. Somehow, it seemed impossible, they found Derek the wolf waiting patiently for them at the back door. He acted like he was starving, which Stiles cracked up about, given they had just finished eating at Bubba Gump’s like a half hour earlier and he knew for a fact that Derek and Jordan had both eaten dinner then too; he had seen the ridiculous amount of seafood on Derek’s plate with his own two eyes.

The wolf also spit out a credit card into Stiles’ hand when Shawn wasn't around to snoop. Stiles had to wipe the slobber off on his jeans before he could read it, then he nearly choked on the urge to laugh: it was Kyle’s credit card.

“Was lunch and dinner on the house today?” he asked, quiet, trying to not draw attention to himself. The wolf just stared at him, somehow still conveying that he had asked a stupid question. Stiles had a hell of a time not getting caught as he tried to sneak the card back into the basket where Kyle dumped his wallet and car keys when he hung up his coat in the hall outside the garage.

Given how badly his friend's mood had fallen over the course of the night, Stiles tried to distract them both with a kitchen project. It didn't matter what kind to Stiles - he probably would have preferred a molotov cocktail recipe but figured an actual explosion would be dangerous - he was just running out of ways to keep Kyle off their backs while also distracting Shawn given that Shawn was the consummate omega who needed to serve to be happy apparently. Stiles both understood and felt suddenly guilty as he realized that was probably why Shawn had been assigned to him as a buddy in the omega track to begin with.

But Shawn couldn't figure out what he could possibly waste time on in the kitchen. He actually slammed a cupboard door. Stiles intervened when the very pregnant omega reached for the bottle of wine in the temperature controlled wine cooler with apparent serious intent. Stiles smoothly replaced the wine, retrieved Shawn’s hand, and snugged the cooler door closed behind him.

“Okay, nope. You are done for the day. Out of the kitchen.” The demand was accompanied by a pointed finger toward the hallway.

“I need a drink.”

“No. You don't.”

“I need something,” Shawn insisted. He wasn't crying, but he still looked a wreck. Stiles shook his head, firm on his resolution that alcohol was not the appropriate solution for Shawn’s situation.

“Baby on board. Whatever that something is you need, it is not controlled substances,” he said. “And I know it fucking sucks because when my best friend broke it off with his girlfriend, the first thing I did was steal some booze and take him out to the park. But we can't do that here, man.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do, Stiles?” It was pretty clear the question was more angry venting than an actual request for an answer. “Chloe won't return my texts. She's not calling. I tried her house. I tried her brother. Nothing. No one.”

Stiles managed to divert Shawn out to the massive, lit patio outside. They could hear the ocean and the wind was calmer. Shawn still had his jacket on anyway because his omega-system was all screwed up and he went from hot to frozen whenever he took it off. Outside seemed the safest way to avoid Kyle’s unwanted attention for what Stiles’ gut said was an incoming meltdown.

Shawn stared at the city skyline for a long minute, his eyes wide in something Stiles personally associated with panic. "I can't go back to school,” said Shawn.

And _there_ was the meltdown. "Yes you can."

Shawn shook his head, calm enough but there was that rough tone in his voice that said he was a little less than rational. "You don't get it. I can't be pregnant and not married. I can't have a kid without a wife."

Somehow, Stiles managed not to be offended by the dismissal. His friend was forgetting the part where they were both omegas, and completely ignorant to the life Stiles had already lost by the world shoving him into the omega-shaped box he had tried to avoid. Instead, Stiles nodded. "Yes you can."

The effort at support and patience was not appreciated; Shawn was in no mood for it. "I can kick your ass if you say that again. You don't know anything about this, Stiles."

_Nope, nothing, I know not one thing about the bullshit of forced and court-ordered dependency,_ Stiles thought, a little bitter. He tried to shrug it off though, since he had gotten the same line from Scott countless times. There was still a little irritation when he tried again to talk sense into his friend. "Why can't you kick the ass of anybody at school who gives you shit for Chloe being a bitch and your dad being the shitty scum of the earth she pees on?"

Shawn choked at the descriptive language. "Oh my god. Seriously?"

"So what? You want to stay here?" Stiles waved a hand back at Kyle’s house behind them. It was a nice house, but to him it was a prison, and therefore the worst of all terrible options either of them faced in the near future. Shawn, however, bobbed his head like a dog on a dashboard.

"Why not?"

There was a moment of stunned silence as Stiles processed the absolutely selfish, ignorant request. He had honestly believed, until that moment, that Shawn was on his side of the whole omega thing. And maybe his friend still was, somewhere under the freaking out he was currently doing. Stiles scrubbed at his face, tried to figure out how to get through to Shawn through the panic. "Because it's not our house? Just for starters?"

"So? If you asked to stay, we could."

 Obviously Stiles’ efforts were not going to work. Shawn was well past freaking out. Stiles couldn't exactly blame him; he knew close enough what had to be going on in Shawn’s head, and if he was honest with himself, Stiles hadn't been exactly awesome to his friends a month earlier when he’d had his meltdown. He tried to remember what would have helped him, back when the school pulled the rug out from under him and he had to start over.

"What, I put all my weekends into one week instead?"

  
It was the best he could come up with to buy Shawn some time to calm down. There was no way it would work though. It was an impossible, stupid suggestion, thrown out because Stiles had no real resources to offer up, either. They were both omegas, both stuck.

"Sure,” said Shawn. He shrugged, seemed to breathe in a full breath for the first time in five minutes. Shawn really, really wasn't paying attention to Stiles’ situation at all. He stared at him as Shawn pulled out his cell phone, unlocked it, looked for text messages that just weren't going to magically appear on the screen. Stiles shook his head.

"I hate you for this,” he said eventually. But despite himself, he tried to sort out how to arrange it.

 

***

 

The problem with promises to help his friends, Stiles realized, was that it left him making sacrifices. Big ones. Not that his friends weren't there for him whenever they could be, and not that they didn't want to help him in return, and it wasn't like Stiles necessarily expected repayment in exchange for his definition of friendship. He was just too much of a stubborn idiot, there was nothing he couldn't accomplish if he felt it needed done for his friends or family. But Stiles realized, after all the monsters, all the near death experiences, all the nightmares he would be haunted by for the rest of his possibly short life, he had a problem with letting his heart write checks the rest of him couldn't necessarily cash.

And of all the stupid reasons to consider maybe, for once, tucking tail and doing what was best for himself instead of what might help a friend, it was the terrifying moment of standing in front of Kyle’s office door, contemplating just how the hell he was supposed to ask the man to harbor a runaway, pregnant, emotionally unstable omega for an extra week.

The office was bigger than Stiles’ bedroom, probably three times the size of his living room at home. Lots of glass, reflective surfaces, the best and shiniest technology on the market. It was, for lack of any more appropriate word, impressive. And mildly attractive. And Stiles wanted nothing more than to find a bean bag chair, plop it in front of the massive flat screen that took up half of one wall, and play video games. Instead, where the bean bag chair should have been sat a desk. And at the desk, of course, was Kyle, scowling at his laptop screen.

“What do you want?” Kyle asked, not exactly polite about it but not cranky. He was certainly sulking. Because apparently spoiled rich boys didn't grow up past the mental age of six. Stiles rolled his eyes and reminded himself he was trying to help his friend.

“I don't think we should go home tomorrow,” he said. It was like ripping off the bandaid, all the shock over and done. It got Kyle’s attention. “It’s too soon. I’ll be stuck all week thinking about having to come back, which won't be a good thing.”

“Excuse me?” Kyle’s surprise turned dark quickly.

“If I'm supposed to want to be here, I need more time to get used to it all,” said Stiles. He was trying to be careful but finesse wasn't exactly his strongest skill set. “If I go home, I'm just going to want to stay home. Because I still want to be at home, so whatever these visits are supposed to accomplish is gonna take awhile.”

Kyle turned back to his computer screen then, not quite dismissing Stiles but making his disinterest known. “Then maybe you should go home. I can have Rico drive you both back tonight.”

It was Stiles’ turn to be surprised. “For good? What about the court order?”

“You are the one who is suggesting violating it,” said Kyle. “I have been more than accommodating. I don't think you’re upholding your end at all.”

“What? We just did all this stuff today-”

“You spent the day with your friend. I paid for it. Again.” There was a fair amount of annoyance to the reminder of Kyle’s financial investment in Stiles.

“He's supposed to be with us. He’s the chaperone,” said Stiles. “And he’s had to tell you off a few times, too, so it's not like he isn't doing his job.”

“That’s the problem, isn't it? It's just a job. You aren't even considering changing your opinion of me. If that’s the case, no matter what I do to apologize, you won't give it a chance,” said Kyle. “And if you aren't going to try to be happy, I certainly can't make you.”

Stiles felt for a moment like maybe things were looking up for the first time in months. “So we’re done? We can just go home? You’re okay with that?”

Again, Kyle shrugged it off, just business. No big deal. “I'm not okay with it. But if you’re going to continue to piss on the mediated agreement, we’ll have to go back. Figure something else out.”

“Woah! Wait- that’s not- I'm trying to work things out-”

Kyle handed him an envelope with a neatly clipped stack of receipts in them. On the top was a post it note, the money spent on the receipts all tallied up and written down. “That’s today. That’s not counting gas and dinner from yesterday. Would you like me to break that down into an hourly wage equivalent for you?”

Stiles stared at the envelope, jaw set, teeth grinding as he tried not to smart off with something that would prove how much he wasn't interested in trying anything. He saw the price tag that he and his friend were racking up. It wasn't a lot to Kyle maybe, and it had all been at Kyle’s benevolent insistence, but it was more than Stiles made in a month off his non-existent omega salary.

“If you were at all trying to work on anything, Stiles, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be in my office catching up on missed work.” Kyle kindly didn't include the cost of missed work hours in his running tally. “But omega daycare services don't pay the bills, and I have a company to run.”

For a moment, Stiles could just stare, blank faced, faith in humanity in general suddenly gone. He wanted to argue, but it was hard to take the high road on that when he was quite literally asking the man to to let a couple of omegas take over his house. Kyle wasn't wrong for once and it took the wind right out of Stiles’ sails. He felt like a terrible human in so many ways, the least of which being that he was failing to help Shawn. Somewhere at the end of the list was the footnote about how he was terrible for misleading Kyle, even outright lying to him; it was a tiny speck on the list, but it did make the list.

“I already told you, I don't want to be here. I'm being honest, alright? That’s trying. I don't know what you want. I can't pay you back what you gave the hunters. I can't fix it,” Stiles finally managed to say, his tone carefully neutral.

“Brokers,” Kyle corrected, irritable. “Your father put you on the market, not me.”

Stiles bit his tongue to keep from arguing the stupid lie. “Look. I want to go home. What happens if Shawn and I just leave?”

“I’ll call you a driver,” said Kyle, leaning back in his chair to assess Stiles. He took the envelope back. “And then I’ll call my lawyer. We’ll look into changing the jurisdiction. Get a new judge if we need to. Find a new solution.”

The carefully banked anger in his gut seemed to die out as Stiles realized Kyle wasn't going away. He was going to win or he was going to ruin Stiles’ tiny family of two. His dad couldn't afford the lawyers that Kyle could, and Jackson’s dad would only work for free for so long. Hiding behind Shawn and Derek only made it all worse. Stiles was on his own.

“What if I stay?” he asked.

“How long?” returned Kyle.

“A week. Full seven days,” said Stiles. “After that, I go back and finish my school year.”

He seemed to have Kyle’s attention. “And then what?”

“You’d have a week,” said Stiles, tone flat. He shrugged. “I'm an omega, right? If you can't win me over by the time Withdrawal kicks in, you probably don't want me anyway. Must be broken. Somebody with their face on the cover of Forbes doesn't want a faulty omega, right?”

That amused the man and the dispassionate, grim business expression tugged into a slight smile. “That’s fair.”

Stiles didn't feel it was, but he kept that to himself. He didn't mention he was shielded from withdrawal kicking in thanks to Derek and Shawn being with him, and Jordan just down the road. He was negotiating, and the only thing he had to negotiate with was himself, so he would not be sharing that card until it won him the game. Kyle watched him as he considered it.

“So a week. Seven days,” the man said after an impossible minute. “You stay here. I continue to feed and clothe your friend. We assess where things are next Saturday.”

Stiles nodded. There was something in Kyle’s voice though, a smugness that worried him. Kyle deliberated again, dragging it out. There was a scratch at the office door, Derek the wolf reacting to the change in Stiles’ heart rate. He was scared and trying to hide it only made it feel worse. The thought of staying a full week under threat of lawyers was terrifying; possession was nine-tenths of the rule of law and that was a long time for Kyle to have custody of him.

“I'm not sure what I get out of it,” Kyle finally said. “If you spend a week as you have the last twenty-four hours, I’ll get bitched at, spend more money, and still end up on my own for most of the time.”

That was more or less Stiles’ plan for surviving the week, so it was a bit of a blow to have it called out. He tried to shrug it off. “I don't know what you want.”

“I think I've made myself clear enough,” said Kyle. He leaned forward to lean his arms on his desk. The scratching on the door went up a notch, but Stiles might have diverted attention to it; he _wanted_ saving. That's what werewolf best friends were for. But this wasn't exactly a werewolf problem.

“Yeah, and what you want and what I want aren't exactly compatible so we have to work on how to get around that,” replied Stiles. “So something's gotta give.”

“How's this for a work-around then,” Kyle said. “You stay here the week. And you stay with me. My room is big enough for the both of us.”

The door scratching was more forceful now, the occasional ‘thump!’ of the wolf’s body weight shoving at the double doors. Stiles willed them to break but they didn't, leaving him locked in a staring contest with Kyle. The man must have sensed his fear and held up his hands, placating.

“Hands off if you like,” he said. “I’ll even put it in writing. You don't touch me, I don't touch you. But if you got to changing your mind, I’d be there for you.”

Somehow, Stiles managed not to gag. But he felt cornered. Derek demanding to be let in the room made it worse. Shawn tried talking to the wolf-dog on the other side of the door to make him stop. It didn't work. Stiles felt the creeping panic from indecision.

“I promise I'm not some monster, Stiles. The deal was that you let me show you. So? Are you going to uphold your end of it? Or do we have to keep wasting time?” Kyle asked. Impossibly, against everything that made sense to his brain, Stiles felt himself nod.

“Okay. We can try it,” he heard himself say. “But I want it in writing. And I keep Derek with me, like usual.”

And that was what it felt like to deal with the devil, Stiles realized. Hanging on by fingernails and scrabbling for a foothold as the mountain he climbed started to invert the wrong way. So much could go wrong. He felt gross just having agreed to it. Kyle just started typing like lightning across the keyboard in front of him, narrating out loud what he was writing. Stiles just nodded again, not hearing a word. When Kyle had printed the agreement, he signed it on the spot. It was tucked into the envelope with the receipts.

Stiles watched, muted and pale. He didn't exactly know what he was doing anymore, just trying to keep breathing. Every time he thought he understood how to navigate, thought he was making the right move, it always fired back in the one way he hadn't considered it could.

Kyle stood up and headed for the office door, probably to let Derek in. Stiles just stood still, trying to replay the entire meeting to figure out what he had done wrong, what he had done right, and just how he had ended up agreeing to something that he knew was a terrible, dangerous, no good very bad idea. He startled when Kyle caught his hand, gave it a familiar squeeze. It wasn't a threat, he had let Kyle take his hand a few times in the city just to shut him up, but that didn't make it welcome. Kyle didn't seem to notice. He just passed by.

When Derek jumped on him, clawed paws dragging at his shoulder, Stiles seemed to snap out of it.

“I gotta... gotta take Derek on a walk. He's gonna start chewing furniture,” he lied, too nervous to be called on it. Derek caught his hand between sharp teeth, careful but intent on backing up the excuse as he dragged him toward the door.

“Sorry about that,” Shawn was saying to Kyle as Stiles ducked between them with the furry escort. “I was trying to distract him but it wasn't working...”

Stiles caught his coat as he walked to the front door and then outside. He pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket when Derek let go of his hand. The first person he texted was Shawn, letting him know they were staying. His hands started to shake when he tried to text the same warning to his dad; he couldn't do it.

It was dark out. Stiles didn't know where he was going other than out. He let Derek lead the way, only correcting their course himself once. Two blocks later and he saw Jordan’s truck parked in the long driveway of a house with a detached building that looked like a wood shop. It was another bad idea, just the icing on the cake at this point, so Stiles went up to the door and let himself in.

***


	15. Chapter 15

A strange barking notified the Parrish family that they had an intruder. The house visitor looked lost, and Jordan could have kicked himself for not showing Stiles around when he had snuck out the night before. As he went down the stairs, he realized he hadn't even shown Stiles where he lived. He opened his mouth to say something about it but Stiles beat him to it.

“Sorry... I saw your truck and took a chance,” he said. There was something in his voice but it didn't show up on his face. Jordan frowned.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Stiles shrugged and nodded. Derek barked, the sharpness fading off to a growl. Jordan was no expert at dog linguistics but he was fairly confident that Derek had just called Stiles a liar. He arched an eyebrow at Stiles. The omega rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Just... I don't know. It's weird,” he said. By then, Gray had shown up to investigate and let out a cheer when he saw Derek.

“Cool! Hey mom! Stiles brought his dog-”

“We’re not staying,” Stiles said quickly. Derek had lived as a dog far too long already because he licked Jordan's little brother's hand before going to sniff near the stairs, away from the door Gray had just walked in through. Jordan watched the pair in mild confusion; Stiles hadn't bothered to put Derek on a leash for appearances like they had been. Then his mom showed up and collected Gray.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” she asked Stiles. He nodded dutifully. Lilah gave him a look, her suspicion clear. “And what about your friend?”

“I’d call for an ambulance if he wasn't okay,” said Stiles. “He's messed up because his fiancee's a bitch but I can't help him with that.”

The answer was reassuring enough for Jordan and his mom seemed to accept it. She set her hands on Gray’s shoulders to steer him out of the room. “Stay safe, alright? And don't get in trouble,” she advised as she left. The sad look on Stiles’ face as she left spoke volumes.

“What happened?” Jordan asked, quieter, to avoid the rest of the house hearing about it. Stiles shrugged it off and instead pried his way into a crushing hug. Jordan returned it as best he could, but he was afraid of accidentally hurting Stiles.

“How long before you go back to work?” he asked. Jordan frowned, daring to squeeze a bit tighter because he wanted to shelter Stiles somehow.

“I don't think your dad’s going to fire me for calling in sick a few days,” he said.

“What about a week?”

“What the hell-” Jordan pulled back to look Stiles in the face. Stiles still held onto his shirt for a moment before letting go, reclaiming some of his own space.

“I don't want to go home just to have to do this all over again in a week. So I asked to stay the week, get it over with,” he replied. Derek let out a quiet bark and jumped up the steps. Unlike Stiles, Derek had gotten the briefest of tours earlier that day. He knew he could shift in one of the rooms upstairs and he obviously had something he wanted to say rather than bark. Stiles looked at him and made no move to follow. It was odd and Jordan tugged on Stiles’ elbow.

“Let's go upstairs,” he suggested. Stiles shook his head.

“I gotta get back. I just told him I was going on a walk. But can you stay? A week?”

Confused, mildly concerned, Jordan took a deep breath and tried to stay on track. “What did your dad say about it?”

“I kinda didn't talk to him yet.”

Derek growled again, apparently trying to talk like a human despite his four-legged form. Stiles didn't seem to appreciate the commentary.

“You stay if you want to then,” he informed the dog. “I gotta go back.”

“Yeah but not right now,” Jordan argued mildly.

“I don't want yelled at,” replied Stiles. He jerked his chin toward Derek. “And that’s all he's gonna do.”

The wolf darted up the stairs then and disappeared. A door slammed open, announcing Derek’s opinion of Stiles’ priorities. Jordan cast a sideways glance at Stiles.

“I think you just put me in a really awkward situation,” said Jordan, the quiet tone just a stage whisper. “Because I think you have about ten seconds before he's down here yelling. And I'm not sure which of you I’m morally obligated to side with. Pretty sure I’m going to agree with him if you've got him this worked up though.”

It was meant to be a joke but seemed to have missed. Stiles narrowed his eyes at Jordan but didn't say anything. He changed tracks and brushed a kiss to his cheek before turning to leave.

“You deal with him then.”

Stiles was out the door before Jordan knew it and he stared, struck stupid by the confusion. What the hell was going on? He could probably wait and get an earful of explanation from Derek, but Stiles was the one who was acting off.

Jordan followed Stiles, locking the front door behind them. He trotted after Stiles and caught up to him at the street by the truck. It was dark and cold out, fog already settling in, and not exactly a great time to be out, but Jordan knew the neighborhood. They were safe enough. He once again reached out and caught Stiles by the elbow, steered him off his designated course. They stopped at the end of the truck and Jordan set down the tailgate. Then he pointed Stiles to it.

“Sit. Explain. I don't want to make a federal investigation out of this,” he said. Stiles scrunched his nose at the order but complied. They sat down shoulder to shoulder and Jordan tried not to stare as he willed Stiles to talk.

Because Stiles was Stiles, it didn't take long; silence created vacuums and Stiles abhorred cleaning supplies.

“Shawn asked me if we could stay and so I asked Kyle and he said we could. And I don't want to go home and then have to come back. I'm not changing my mind. It's all a waste of time. But if he's supposed to have a week of my time or else a judge gets on dad’s case about it, fine. We get it done all at once,” Stiles rambled out. He gnawed at a fingernail and closed himself off, but he leaned against Jordan without leaning on him.

“So what’s so bad about that? Makes sense to me,” said Jordan. He didn't like it, it seemed like a shitty week if he was honest, but it seemed like Stiles was following a certain logic. Stiles shrugged it off and didn't volunteer any additional information. That's when the front door of Jordan’s house opened and Derek made his angry presence known.

“Stilinski!”

“Told you,” muttered Stiles.

“Probably could have told me _more_ ,” replied Jordan. He looked up at his cousin’s approach.

“What's the problem?”

“Did he tell you what he did?” Derek asked. “You don't have a problem with that stupidity?”

“He told me,” replied Jordan. Judging from the heat and censure in Derek’s voice, Jordan was pretty certain he hadn't been told the whole truth however. Stiles just glared at Derek.

“I've got it on paper. I've got you. I've got Shawn as a witness. I’ll be fine,” Stiles said. Derek shook his head, not having it.

“He tried to buy you. Do you really think a piece of paper is gonna keep him from messing with you? You did exactly what he wanted you to do-”

“What am I supposed to do? I hate it there! He's gonna just call in the lawyers all over again.”

“You stick to the court order, you don't give him ammunition-”

“Would somebody please loop me in?” Jordan interrupted. He was the only one present with any kind of a legal background, just for starters, and he kind of had a genuine interest in Stiles’ health and well-being.

“No,” replied Stiles. “I've got it handled. He’s freaking out because I didn't ask him about it first.”

“I don't exactly want to get locked in that room for an entire week, no,” said Derek. “And I’m pretty sure if he had half a shot, he’d lock me outside. What are you gonna do when he does that? He’s a liar, Stiles. He lies. All. The. Time. I have to listen to it.”

“Then don't listen,” returned Stiles. Jordan held up a hand, pointed at Derek to get his attention.

“Don't do that. You listen,” he said, trying to be the voice of reason however blind he felt. “ _He_ can't. _You_ listen.”

Derek pointed at Stiles. “Then make him-”

“Make me _what_ , Derek? It's done. I can't do anything about it. I did something and it sucks and it's gonna be done in a week instead of a month,” said Stiles. “Leave it alone. Okay?”

It clearly wasn't. Stiles was staring down a werewolf who wanted to kill him for his own good and he seemed oblivious to the danger; not ignorant, just uncaring of it. Jordan caught his friend’s eye and tried to wave him off. Stiles wasn't about to back down, and he had to trust Derek to watch his back for the next week if that was really happening. They had no cool down time if they were roommates for the long term.

“Don't worry about a problem that isn't here yet, okay?” Jordan cautioned. “For all we know, the sheriff’s going to freak out over this and call in the lawyers before Kyle can.”

“Then you can tell my dad to sit down and shut up, too,” said Stiles. “If we try to change anything, Kyle’s just going to make it worse. We just stick with this and deal.”

“ _That’s_ not gonna happen,” said Derek, amused despite himself. Jordan didn't mind since it kept him from pointing out that he didn't have the guts to tell his boss to sit anywhere, let alone shut up. “You are losing it, Stiles. Stop making deals with Carrington. Promise me. Right now. Otherwise, we shove you in a box and ship you to your lawyer’s tonight. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “He has a kind of determined interest in me staying alive.”

“Until you piss him off or make him look bad,” Jordan pointed out. He studied Stiles. “Derek’s right.”

“You weren't supposed to take his side,” said Stiles.

“You weren't supposed to make him tell me you're negotiating with a business shark over matters of whether or not you get to keep _breathing_ ,” replied Jordan. “The rest of us are going to a lot of effort to keep you alive. Don't go sabotaging our efforts, man.”

Some of the fight eased off from Stiles’ expression.

“I'm not trying to. I'm just... trying to take care of myself.”

It wasn't like Derek could really argue with Stiles on that, and Jordan was currently sensitive enough to Stiles’ situation that he might have shut his cousin up if he'd tried.

“Just don't forget the rest of us trying to help, too,” was all Jordan said about it. Derek still looked angry but he at least was done yelling at Stiles about whatever it was Jordan wasn't supposed to know about. He paced a few feet away from where they still sat on the tailgate, but it wasn't with the same tension. He was close because they were talking, not because he had to put pack in their place. Jordan distractedly worried how he was going to get a wolf to tell him later what Stiles wouldn't let Derek say out loud now. Stiles slowly, gradually, slumped a little more toward Jordan.

“Is your friend at least okay?” Jordan asked, trying to coax Stiles around to something less stressful all around. Stiles shrugged.

“He’s messed up. I had to keep him out of the alcohol. I think maybe he's edging toward that withdrawal thing that hit me. Maybe the baby speeds it up or something.”

“Nah,” said Jordan. “We can check with my dad, but even with the baby spiking everything, he should be fine for twenty-four hours.”

“A week is another story,” said Derek. Jordan cut him a scolding look and Derek raised a hand to wave him off. Stiles didn't seem to care about the sass.

"I don't know. Shawn's so messed up,” said Stiles. “He bet his whole life on that stupid piece of paper with that stupid girl. And it didn't cost you anything to get one -"

Jordan was thankful for the darkness because he could have sworn he felt his ears go pink. "Well, matchmakers aren't exactly cheap on the alpha side."

He felt Stiles nod against his shoulder. "Didn't work anyway. Court just took it away."

"They wouldn't have if there was a kid like Shawn's got,” Derek pointed out. Again, Jordan felt a rush of embarrassment and stared down at his knee next to Stiles’ because that was just not something he and Stiles had gotten around to discussing yet. He almost regretted it; a kid would have been a really easy fix to the whole situation Stiles was stuck in. And it wasn't exactly a fix Jordan would have any objections to, either. It was just a fix that required a lot more than his say-so. Stiles sat up a little again and Jordan worried he thought out loud for a moment until his mind dug out of the daydreams.

"But,” said Stiles, his tone once again showing frustration, “Because Shawn's got the kid on the way, he can't get the piece of paper. It's bullshit."

"I agree with you there,” said Derek. Jordan nodded absently. He very much missed his version of that piece of paper.

"That's why I gotta go to school. I gotta try for myself."

That surprised Jordan somehow. He frowned and looked over at Stiles. "It won't do any good, Stiles. You've seen how things work now. Even if you graduate high school, you're going to need help. That's how it is."

Stiles just shook his head, too stubborn to hear reason just then. "It is wrong. I am graduating high school. And I'm going to get into whatever college will let in an omega."

Even Derek seemed to dismiss the idea in favor of logic. "There's not many."

When Stiles committed to a stupid idea, he didn't half ass it. "An alpha's signature can get me in."

"Yeah, and then what?” Asked Jordan. “The job market isn't that great. It's a lot of money for something that's going to get put in a frame and hung on a wall after three years and ignored on a resume."

"I guess that's my problem when I get to it."

Jordan shook his head. "I think it's a bad idea."

Stiles looked at him, disapproval on his face. "So is the idea you had to come home for this. You got to do what you wanted."

"What? Checking on you? That's just for the weekend." or at least Jordan had thought it would be only for the weekend. He was going to have to rethink his plans for the week when he talked to the sheriff. Jordan figured it would be worth it though; Stiles smiled at him for something and it was, despite the shadows of a foggy night, a good idea.

"Could be a helluva lot longer for you if I tell Kyle you’re here,” said Stiles. He sounded smug on his empty threat. “With his money, you'd be lucky to get three years for stalking."

"Touché."

"Checkmate."

They stared at each other, just grinning for a moment. Then Jordan promised, "I'm not leaving."

Stiles nodded easy acceptance of the fact. "I'm going to college."

A few feet away, Derek let out an exasperated sigh, reminding them that he was still there. "Can we just get you to graduation first?"

***


	16. Chapter 16

With the unsettled mood that Stiles was in, he would have preferred Derek go away. He was a wolf, he could pick a fight, and Stiles could get in a few hits on a human punching bag before instinct kicked in and he would lose, but the battle in between would make them both feel better. Derek was angry too but he wouldn't accidentally kill Stiles. It was so tempting to try it. Jordan, however, was a more calming presence, so Stiles leaned into his space to try to soak some of that energy up instead. His brain was too full of worries, he felt like everything under and around him was on a really steep hill and about to fall if he didn't hang on. Jordan’s presence somehow offered a ledge with a momentary place to rest.

They talked a little about the day’s adventures in the city, but Jordan dodged when Stiles asked for a clearer picture of what had spooked him so badly on Alcatraz. It wasn't important, supposedly, just a bad dream... while he was awake, surrounded by people, and being yelled at by seagulls and ravens and murderous ghosts. No big deal or anything. But Stiles didn't press on it. He was more or less maxed out on bad news anyway.

Derek suggested a plan for the next time they had to split up and Stiles immediately shot it down; he wasn't agreeing to go anywhere else without his companion animal and Kyle would have to get used to it. Maybe the existence of a companion animal would be enough to annoy Kyle into losing interest. His theory wasn’t met with an overabundance of confidence but it was allowed to stand.

Jordan diverted to asking about Shawn and the baby and if they were really okay staying with Kyle; maybe Shawn could work something out to stay with Jordan’s mom and little brother for a few days instead, maybe Stiles didn’t have to stay with Kyle the whole time... Stiles didn’t really appreciate the momentary false hope from such an idea. He shot that one down by pointing out that Shawn was terrified to get bad grades, so it followed that Shawn begging the kindness of actual strangers would not be approved by the parents who made him afraid of the letter _B_.

It was while discussing that subject that Derek ordered them to be quiet. He was looking off down the road that followed over the edge of the hill between Jordan’s family’s part of the street and Kyle’s. He edged closer to them, protective mode engaged, but angled to move behind the truck instead of along the road. Stiles looked to Jordan as Jordan stood up off the tailgate to follow whatever had stolen Derek’s attention. He swore he saw the man’s hand light up, just a faint glow in the otherwise thorough darkness, and reached out quickly to swat at him and pull his attention back. They didn’t need to light his truck on fire.

A moment later, the source of Derek and Jordan’s alarm became visible to Stiles and he rolled his eyes. It was a couple of flashlight-wielding Rent-a-Cops with the neighborhood’s management company name embroidered on their jacket pockets.

“What’s going on out here?” asked one of them.

“Just talking,” replied Jordan. He pointed to the truck behind him, his hand thankfully no longer glowing. “This is my truck. That house back there is my family’s. We’re visiting.”

The flashlight beam tracked from Jordan’s face to Stiles’ cold-pink nose and cheeks. “We got a nine-one-one on a missing omega. I don’t suppose that’s you?” asked the man behind the flashlight. Stiles felt his face turn flat ghost white in the fog and he jumped off the tailgate.

“Yeah, that’s me. I’ll go back-”

“Nope, how about you wait right here,” said the first of the pair. He cast his flashlight beam around the street and up into the neighboring yards. Stiles noticed that Derek had completely disappeared from sight. It was disturbing how quickly he had gone to ground. His buddy was on a crackly radio, talking into his hand to muffle his voice as he reported the missing omega found safe.

“I gotta go get my dog,” Stiles argued mildly. He pointed to the house. “He’s back in there. It’s okay...”

“Just wait a minute. Right here. Mr. Carrington will be on his way in a minute-”

“I don’t care. I’m gonna go get my dog. Kyle knows about the dog, it’s fine. Whatever,” said Stiles. His effort to head for the house was blocked by one of the rent-a-cops. A car crept up along the street from the opposite direction of where the men had come from. It was a another pair of neighborhood security team members with flashlights for toys and Stiles was blinded by the halogen lamp aimed at him from behind the car’s sideview mirror. He raised an arm to block the worst of it and looked off toward the house, frustration barely in check. One of the first two security guards started interrogating Jordan about who he was and why he was consorting with a missing omega after dark and “Are you armed, sir? Care to keep your hands on the side of the truck, sir?”

There was no legal reason for them to obey a couple of security guards with over-inflated egos thanks to their batons and tasers but Jordan complied, because his job was actually to keep the peace. Jordan was obligated to at least not be a pain in the ass or make a scene.

The one thing omegas had going for their social standing, Stiles realized, was their supposed predisposition toward making a scene. And he’d had a really bad week of stress. He’d had the school try to steamroll him with bad grades, the courts try to put him in an early grave, and even the freak accident of nearly being physically burned by someone he was pretty sure was technically his ex-husband. It was the week of Murphy’s Law. And the one coming up wasn’t going to be much better.

“Fuck it,” Stiles decided aloud. When the rent-a-cop got too close to him to helpfully guide him away from his would-be-kidnapper, Stiles relied on the omega prerogative of unpredictability and decked him across the face. There was a scuffle in the fog as three security guards had to figure out how to keep their compatriot from defending himself against an omega who was little more to them than the property of one of the richest homeowners they were paid to protect. Jordan tried to break it up by getting between Stiles and the security guard, but that got him quickly pulled away because the crazy omega wasn’t his to touch. It gave Stiles the excuse to strike out at whatever came close since he wasn’t in danger of accidentally hitting Jordan.

It was all over in a minute, maybe two at the maximum, because Derek came running out on all four legs to break it up. Worse than that, Stiles heard Jordan’s mom’s voice calling over the fray. It wasn’t the barking wolf scolding him that snapped him back to his senses. It was Lilah Parrish ordering the men to back off. Stiles stumbled back against the side of the truck as Derek bounded into the brightly lit space between the truck and the security team’s old rattly Crown Vic. It was only then he realized he was out of breath and would probably be a good mess of bruises.

He held his hands up to keep space around himself as he crouched against the tire, trying to get his bearings before facing consequences of picking fights. It was startling to realize as Derek shoved a big furry shoulder in against him that those security guards would have been dead if Stiles had been a werewolf like Derek just then. He had been wound up too tight and took a nosedive right into Crazyville, a blind grab for feeling some kind of control and power over himself and his own choices, and if he had been armed with teeth and claws that could tear and shred, Stiles would have done so much worse without thinking twice. He had a new respect for what Derek and Scott and the others went through so often and made the mental note to look into learning about yoga or something himself. He was going to need it, if the last year of his life was any indication of the damage that could be done to his calm.

When he finally looked around and recognized the problem he had made, Stiles saw Jordan standing at the nose of the security guards’ car, partially blocking some of the blinding headlamp light, and one of the guards stood right behind him. It also looked suspiciously like he was in handcuffs. Two more security guards had pulled their surprised compatriot out of Stiles’ reach and up onto the Parrish’s yard. Lilah stood a few feet from Stiles, her arms crossed as she looked between the guards, Jordan, and what she could see of Stiles behind Derek’s bulky black coat.

“Stiles?” she asked, her tone careful and firm. Stiles figured it was her judge-voice and winced. Derek didn’t react when she approached a few steps. She seemed to deem it safe and knelt down to face him a little better. “Are you okay?”

After a moment to catch his breath, Stiles shook his head. He wasn’t okay. And he probably wouldn’t be until he got to go home and be with his friends and not have to worry about creepers who lied to him and manipulated him and locked him up and chased him down when he tried to get away. It wasn’t like Jordan’s mom could do anything about it, but Stiles wasn’t on his game enough to lie about it and come up with a cover story. He was too locked up in his head and the panic was making it hard to breathe. Lilah gently reached out and set a hand to his arm, then brushed his bangs out of his face as a hint to get him to look at her. Stiles just shook his head again. When she shoved at Derek to make him move out of the way, the wolf snapped at her, but the woman didn’t so much as flinch, she just shoved harder and told him to stop crowding Stiles.

“Come here,” she coached at Stiles. “You should go see Jordan, alright?”

Derek fussed a little bit as Stiles tried to get his feet under him enough to stand and move as he was told. Lilah had words for the security guard who tried to keep her from getting Stiles face to face with her son. They were of the legal variety, apparently, because Stiles stood against Jordan’s side for only a moment before the guard removed Jordan’s handcuffs and he was wrapped in a supportive hug. It was a place to hide for a minute and that was all Stiles really cared about. He felt better, he felt warm, and he realized he had been cold for days until that moment. Jordan made him feel better. It was something he hadn't realized he missed until he had it back.

The sight of Kyle’s SUV crawling around the security team’s car was a stark and sudden return to reality. The one where he was stuck with the bone-deep cold, hollow feeling left behind by trying to fit in spaces where other people wanted to put him. He didn't get to escape very often anymore, and not for very long when he did manage it. It looked like his time was up again. Stiles stepped away from Jordan as the car stopped.

“Stiles?” came Shawn’s worried voice. He waddled awkwardly out of Kyle’s car and over to Stiles. Stiles nodded in answer to the unasked question. He wiped at his face, pretending to be tired, trying to ignore the bruise already forming under his eye. Personal space wasn't a big thing between omegas, so it wasn't a surprise when Shawn went right up to Stiles and caught his arm to be sure he was still in one piece. He caught Stiles’ face between his hands, finding the bruises.

“I went for a walk. I'm okay,” Stiles told him. Shawn looked like he wanted to argue but stepped back instead, arms crossed against the cold. Kyle appeared at his shoulder to add to the examination.

“Yes, we see that,” he said. “All over your face.”

“I told you I was going for a walk. You didn't need to send somebody to hunt me down,” Stiles told him. He waved at the security guards lurking nearby. “They started hassling me. I defended myself.”

He heard Jordan choke on a laugh at the very generous description of events. The editorial commentary was ignored. Kyle nodded toward Jordan.

“You've been gone over an hour. Now I see why,” he said. It brought Shawn’s attention to Jordan and vice versa. Shawn froze up like a deer in headlights when he realized how close he stood to the only actual police officer in the too crowded street.

“ _You’re_ Jordan?” he asked, sounding surprised. Jordan gave him an odd, narrow-eyed look but nodded.

“You're Shawn?” he said.

“I’m pissed,” chimed in Kyle. He looked to Stiles. “Get in the car. Let's go.”

There was a brief staring match, Stiles’ pride and panic at odds with each other for a moment. The panic won. Stiles didn't even look at Jordan or Lilah as he moved to the SUV. Derek just barely made it in the car before him. It was going to be a very long night.

***

The first thing Kyle did when they got back to the house was lock Derek in the backyard. He promised to let him in later but Stiles had the distinct impression that he lied. Instead of put up a fight about it, Stiles went to move some of his stuff over to Kyle's room; he had made an agreement and he couldn't hold the man responsible to it if he didn't abide by it himself. There was a sort of detached, numb feeling to it all.

Upstairs, alone for the first time in days, Stiles sat on the foot of the bed and stared blankly around at the stranger’s massive bedroom. The house was quiet, Kyle and Shawn talking downstairs- probably about the breakfast etiquette for the following morning- and nobody nearby to tell him he was existing wrong. He didn't actually care if people thought he was doing things right, he was just tired of arguing about it. If he wasn't arguing, he was better, life was manageable. And if he wasn't going to get what he wanted out of life for awhile anyway, then at least he could keep the fights from happening. Kyle wanted him to stay in the bedroom, so he would. He signed himself up for Eichen, and this felt strikingly similar. He could do it again.

Without asking, without making sure it was okay by the homeowner, Stiles borrowed the marble-lined bathroom for three minutes to grab a quick shower. He washed the day off and found clean clothes that looked like pajamas. Then he turned the lights off - in _Kyle’s_ bedroom - and climbed blindly into bed. When everything had gone to hell back in Eichen, that was how Stiles had survived: let the lights go out and hope for the best until daylight. Worrying about it, pushing control on situations that he couldn't control, just made it last longer and hurt more.

Stiles still remembered the peace he felt when Jordan had been beside him, so maybe, just maybe, if he slept then he could hang on to that.

***

“Have you been in here the whole time?”

It wasn't the lights going on that woke Stiles. It was the confusion and surprise in the question he was only half cognizant of being asked.

“Yeah... It's late- what time is it?” Stiles asked, still blurry. The lights in the room went down by half again.

“Late,” replied Kyle, dismissive of the question. He appeared at the bedside and edged up to sit beside where Stiles lay. Stiles buried his face in the pillow, intent on ignoring the man. Kyle upped it by brushing his hair from his face to check the bruises from the fight. He tried the same trick with the collar of Stiles’ shirt and it got him shrugged off.

“You signed an agreement,” Stiles reminded him. “With terms.”

“You went and got in a fight right after it was signed. I'm just making sure you’re still in one piece since you're not interested in telling me what happened,” said Kyle.

“You sicced the rentacops on me. I got mad when they grabbed me. Not much to tell.”

“I wouldn't have had to track you down if you hadn't disappeared.”

Stiles huffed his tired amusement at the bullshit. “I told you where I was going.”

“You didn't tell me you were going to the deputy’s house,” replied Kyle.

“I went for a walk,” said Stiles.

Kyle set his weight on one arm just opposite Stiles’ other side, effectively pinning him without touching him. “You walked to the deputy. I don't want you seeing him while you’re here. He's not your family. For all you know, he could just be trying to sell you back to the brokers.”

“He's not,” said Stiles. He cracked open an eyelid to be sure Kyle kept his own space. “And I'm not gonna stop seeing my friends just because I'm here. That wasn't included on the terms. I don't have to.”

“See all the friends you want. It's that one that is the problem,” replied Kyle. “You can't see him. It is not appropriate.”

“Should we run it past Shawn that I’m staying in your room?” challenged Stiles. “See if that's appropriate?”

“You’re covered in bruises because you attacked a security guard,” said Kyle. “You and Shawn have very different interpretations of what an omega should or shouldn't do. And you’re the one that matters.” The man tugged at the blankets and arranged them higher, snugged his hands a little closer against Stiles’s arms. He leaned over Stiles so he could take on a little of his weight. It was obnoxious and a test more than something like a threat. Aware of the game and tired of fighting, Stiles allowed it.

“I _attacked_ the security guard because he set hands on me when I didn't wanna be touched,” Stiles pointed out, a warning in the interests of maintaining peace despite the man’s insistence. “So just remember your agreement. ‘Cause I’m gonna take care of myself if somebody crosses a line.”

Kyle didn't take the words as the threat they were. He smiled, let a little more weight rest on Stiles.

“That agreement leaves a lot of room for interpretation. We could have a lot of fun in between the lines,” he pointed out. Stiles glared at him.

“And if it's not fun for me?”

“You’ll let me know where that line is,” replied Kyle. “You just said so.”

Stiles shoved at him in a clear form of communication. Kyle laughed and adjusted how he held the blankets to keep Stiles pinned. It was a game to the man. Stiles had been there before. Brunski played games. They just hurt more.

“I'm tired,” Stiles informed the man. “I'm going to sleep. You’re going to let me. That's how this works: appropriately.”

Kyle nodded, his amusement no less clear. All the same, he closed the few inches between them and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ mouth. It was broadcast well enough and Stiles was resigned to its inevitability. He didn't return it. He just went still. Kyle took it as an acceptable win and then moved out of Stiles’ space. There was no fight, no argument. He just went off to get ready for bed. Stiles wiped his face and burrowed under the blankets a little further.

“Where’s Derek?” he called out after a moment.

“The asshole snapped at me when I tried to let him in,” Kyle replied from the bathroom. “So I locked him in the garage.”

Stiles wasn't surprised. He buried the anger and the fear a little further under the blankets. Then he closed his eyes and tried to talk himself into sleeping again.

***


	17. Chapter 17

Sometime around sunup, Stiles woke up before Kyle. He crept out of the man’s room and got dressed in the room he had been given previously. Then down to the kitchen. He wasn't surprised to see Shawn already there, already planning out breakfast. Stiles hadn't told him about the arrangement to stay in Kyle’s room and he didn't plan to. Regardless, Shawn had taken it upon himself to return the favor by having breakfast going first thing each morning they were there. It might have had more to do with his stress and insomnia, though, than a gesture of thanks, Stiles couldn't be sure. He greeted Stiles with a nervous, worried smile and rambled out something about what he was cooking.

Stiles was more distracted by the missing Derek and hardly acknowledged it. He swore out loud when he found the door to the garage; it was locked with a keypad and had no handle. Kyle hadn't been kidding when he said he had locked Derek in. All Stiles could do was kick at the door, offer up at least the warning that the house was finally awake, before going back to the kitchen.

It didn't appear that Shawn was feeling any better with time. It was Sunday, not far enough away yet from the trauma of Friday to be in perfect health, but Stiles had hoped it would at least help. Instead, Shawn was shaken, pink-cheeked and frail looking. Stiles stood beside him to check on the meal Shawn was making and slung an arm over his shoulder, a casual greeting hug he had done to his friends thousands of times, and he suddenly had to scramble to keep Shawn from collapsing. No expert by far, but Stiles was certain it was withdrawal.

“Okay, buddy. You go sit. I can handle breakfast from here,” he said. It was an order, complete with instructions on where he was expected to sit. Shawn waddled off, not happy but not arguing. Stiles texted Jordan to ask if his dad was home, because he needed to get Shawn to someone who knew omega-stuff. After breakfast, a walk would probably help, but Stiles was equally afraid that Shawn would need a hospital if put to any strenuous activity.

Breakfast was eggs and pancakes and bacon. Basics. Stiles had it well under control. When he tried to make sure Shawn had his plate and could eat, the crazy-programmed omega refused, because Kyle was still asleep.

“Well, how about you go upstairs, and you take up the other half of his bed, and I will bring you both breakfast in bed,” Stiles suggested. Shawn turned bright red from embarrassment, from the tips of his ears right down his neck. He took it as a joke though and didn't move. Stiles sighed, delivered the plate of food to the breakfast nook where Shawn sat. Then he left the kitchen to dutifully wake up the master of the house to be sure he ate before the servants.

He stopped at the base of the stairs, listened for signs of life, heard nothing.

“Kyle! Breakfast! Get down here!” he bellowed. He knew he would catch hell for it, but it made him feel better.

True to form, Shawn was mortified when Stiles walked back into the kitchen. Stiles waved it off and went to stand at the counter to steal from the bacon plate.

“Trust me, it’s okay,” said Stiles. He waved dismissively in the general direction of the stairs. “The whole reason he bought me was because I'm a rebel omega who swears and sasses people. He’ll be disappointed I didn't mention his ass.”

Shawn turned colors again. Stiles handed him an apple with instructions to eat something before he fainted. A few minutes later, a scruffy-faced, half-dressed, still tired looking Kyle padded into the kitchen. The man was missing his shirt and shoes and his sleep pants barely hung to his hips; Shawn choked on his orange juice at the six-pack that walked in the room. It distracted Stiles, too, and he stared a bit slack jawed for a moment. Kyle noticed, took advantage of the moment, and greeted Stiles with an open mouthed kiss. Somehow the man had minty-fresh morning breath and Stiles was just surprised enough to kiss him back. That put Kyle in a great mood and he slapped Stiles on the ass as he moved away to collect his plate.

“Good morning,” Kyle greeted the stunned-stupid room. Stiles quickly wiped at his mouth and shoved another piece of bacon in it before joining Shawn in a mumbled echo of a hello. Stiles collected his own plate and went to sit next to Shawn before Kyle could get handsy again. His friend, however, looked like he had lost his appetite and refused to look at him. Stiles frowned.

“Sorry,” he said, quiet. “I didn't know he was gonna do that. It wasn't appropriate at all.”

Shawn nodded absently. “Chloe blocked my number. It's been a rough night.”

Kyle sat down at the table then. “Well, that’s a buzzkill. Thanks.”

Annoyed, Stiles cut him a glare and stabbed at a bit of his pancake.

“You think that's a buzzkill, maybe you should worry about what happened to your garage when you locked a wolf in it overnight. He doesn't like being locked up. It never goes well,” Stiles said. It was the only thing he could think of that might knock Kyle down a step. Kyle shrugged it off.

“He’s housebroken. It’ll be fine.”

 

***

 

The garage itself was fine. The six cars housed inside of it, however...

Stiles stood in the doorway behind Kyle and had to try not to laugh. In the center of the garage’s small, obnoxiously neat and tidy work area, sat a wolf, on alert, ears up, back straight, with the most serene look on his face; absolutely no fucks were given at the sight of a half-naked and now quite distressed Kyle Carrington.

From the looks of the black bits and shop towels spread on the floor, Derek had made himself a bed of shredded tires at the expense of five out of the six cars in the garage. Amusingly enough, the only car he hadn't stolen a tire from was the big SUV. The sports cars were each missing a tire. One of the convertibles must have had a blanket in it because there was a leather and sheepskin wool throw draped over the mess. Dog slobber evidence of chewing still remained on one corner. Overnight, unsupervised, Derek had caused at least a couple thousand dollars worth of damage.

Kyle kept making noises but nothing resembling words actually happened. Stiles was fairly certain the man would kill someone, and it could very likely be him, but he couldn't say it wasn't completely worth it. He had to start coughing, pretend to choke on the orange juice in his hand, just to keep himself from laughing.

As Kyle tried to remember how to speak through surprise and anger, Derek stood up from his nest and trotted around him, to the door, past Stiles with a gentle, friendly shove, and into the house. A moment later, Stiles heard the soft ‘ _chink! Chink!_ ’ of the wolf scarfing up the food that had been left on a plate on the floor for him. Shawn could be heard giving the wolf polite good-morning conversation, completely oblivious to the carnage in the garage.

“What. The. Hell.” Kyle finally found his voice and Stiles couldn't fault him for the swearing. He had expected much worse. He tried to look innocent rather than pleased, shook his head as he hid behind his glass of orange juice.

“I tried to tell you before. He doesn't like being locked up...”

The rich man’s good mood from breakfast was gone. He turned to go back in the house, caught Stiles by the arm to keep him from going in first.

“This. Is not funny,” Kyle said, deadly quiet. “And I don't run a tab. _You_ pay for this. Later.”

Stiles stared at him, surprised just a little by the actual threat in the man’s voice. Kyle made sure he was understood and then shoved Stiles toward the mess.

“Clean it up. I have to go call around to get mechanics out here today,” he ordered. Then he was gone, in the house, with the door closed behind him. There was no door handle on the inside either, just another keypad. Stiles swore at his luck as he stared at the mess. Then he took a picture with his phone and texted it to Jordan just to brag a little on Derek’s passive-aggressive revenge tactics. It was a mild distraction from worrying about “later.”

 

***

 

Derek got locked in the backyard later that day when Kyle decided they would go back to the city. They went to the park and the tea gardens, and Stiles quite frequently lost ownership of his hand along the mindless walking around. He was treated like a flight risk, and Kyle’s effort at keeping him on a leash could not be disguised by his half-assed effort at being romantic.

Shawn didn't call him on omega propriety even once all morning. He was too distracted waiting on his phone to ring or beep or otherwise save the life that he had so abruptly lost on Friday. He swore at any tiny surprise, nearly cried at the sight of a couple out with their hyperactive kids. Stiles felt bad for him but didn't know how to help.

And then there was Kyle who rambled on about his work and the computer company he owned and the movie contract work his graphics division sometimes handled. If the man hadn't bought him from brokers and didn't knowingly and intentionally try to cause him pain, Stiles could very easily have fallen for the whole Carrington package in those moments when he wasn't so full of himself. He was a lot like Lydia in some ways, sometimes reminded him of Derek, and nothing at all Jordan.

The park trip was a learning expedition and very informative. Stiles now knew enough about Kyle to doubt himself. Whenever Shawn disappeared to the bathrooms, Kyle pulled Stiles into his space for what started out as controlling hugs and by the last visit was a little heavier. Rather than start a fight in public, Stiles allowed some of it, corrected other parts, and kept quiet.

Somewhere around the park, Jordan and Derek followed them. He hadn't seen them but he knew they were around because he texted Jordan an apology and got the prompt reply that it wasn't Stiles’ fault. It didn't make him feel any better. But he could only dodge Kyle so much without making a scene. The one time he tried, Kyle reminded him that the new tires weren't going on the bill to his father because Stiles could pay up for his dog himself. Kyle had figured a work-around on his agreement already. It made Stiles worry more for the next time they were in court; Kyle was going to have so much to say about his favorite omega.

The next time Shawn had to go to the restroom, Stiles went with him, just to stay away from Kyle. This time there was only one bathroom in the fast food styled cafe they had found. He had never been so glad to see a line for a bathroom visit in his life and collapsed back against the wall, exhausted. Shawn shook his head.

“I don't know what you’re complaining about,” he said. “You guys seem to be getting along pretty good.”

Stiles blinked at him, shocked. “You know I've got a boyfriend right? Someone I actually like and who doesn't leave bruises and lock me in the garage.”

Shawn paled. He nodded acknowledgement, looked guilty as sin itself for suggesting his viewpoint. “Yeah. But other than that... I mean, that’s not everything Kyle and you have. He seems like a really good idea...”

“He’s not,” said Stiles, and that was more or less the final word he would offer on that subject. He had Jordan just a text message away. Jordan was the man he wanted. He just had to survive the week with Kyle and then it was done.

Somehow, Shawn could still only see the good side offered by Kyle Carrington. "You guys are doing all this stuff but... You _really_ don't like him."

"Nope."

"He's not that bad to me."

That earned a scoff. "He didn't _buy_ you."

"There is that." Shawn seemed to accept that perspective and nodded. He looked like he still wanted to talk about it but the line moved and he finally got to steal the bathroom. Stiles waited, in no hurry, distracted by his brain rather than his bladder and enjoying not having anyone talking at him to tell him how great Kyle was for him.

A few minutes later they were leaving to meet up with Kyle again, only to find he wasn't in the cafe dining area anymore. Stiles checked his phone, saw no messages from the man updating his location status. Something seemed off so he looked outside the big picture windows and their cheerful painted words and dancing tea cups. There, just out the front of the store, Kyle and Jordan stood toe to toe with Derek off to the side, arms crossed, and looking just as angry as Jordan.

“Oh shit,” he said out loud. He prodded at Shawn to steer him toward a side door. “We need to go wait in the car...”

Shawn saw the brewing brawl and nodded his ready agreement. Just to cover his own ass, Stiles texted Kyle to let him know they were going to wait for him in the car rather than watch the fight.

The problem became instead that they didn't make it to the car.

 

***

 

Jordan knew the day wasn't going well when Derek showed up at his door angry and in a hurry. They barely had enough time to get on the road to follow Stiles; Derek was still scrabbling to get dressed as they ran to the car. Jordan technically stole his father’s car because Kyle had seen the truck the night before. Then they were in the park of all places and Derek was quietly informing him of how the night had progressed after their run in with the security guards.

That meant Jordan now understood exactly what Stiles had agreed to do in exchange for letting Shawn stay an extra week to hide from his parents.

Having seen some omega horror stories in his life, Jordan sympathized with Shawn’s situation, he felt bad for the boy. But he also knew there were other ways to handle the damn problem. And he knew that Stiles was a stubborn idiot who sometimes got too far in over his head to actually see clearly past the end of his nose. Jordan was angry before he actually saw with his own eyes how Kyle treated Stiles.

It was not how Stiles interacted with the world. It was how someone would treat a subservient, or a sex toy, and not another equal human being. Jordan knew how Stiles treated his friends and treated people he was with romantically. He had seen Stiles with Malia, and he had experienced Stiles with him, however brief and stressful that had been. It wasn't how Stiles behaved, and it showed in how Stiles moved and walked when Kyle was around, and in how Kyle had to constantly keep physical hold on him somehow.

Jordan wasn't a fan of having to run a surveillance op on Stiles, and it was probably breaking rules, except for the part where he and Derek were regarded by both Stiles and his father as Stiles’ only available backup in hostile territory. He hated stalking around and following Stiles and sacrificing actual days of his own life acting like a spy. But he was there to keep Stiles safe. And watching Kyle paw at Stiles, hang onto him, restrain him, in general force himself on Stiles. Jordan and Derek served as witnesses, but they were by no means able to protect Stiles. It was infuriating.

“I can't do this,” Jordan informed Derek around three in the afternoon. “The sheriff would kill that man and get away with it if he was here. Stiles can't stay there all week. Not like this.”

“He did it to himself, there is actually nothing we can do to help here,” Derek returned. “He walked right into this loophole. All I can figure out is that maybe he knows what he's doing.”

Jordan waved a hand at the low-key assault happening across the clearing from them on a public park bench. “Stiles has no clue what he’s doing.”

“Yeah, well neither do you, you aren't there where he is,” said Derek. “So let him figure it out. We just make sure he doesn't get killed. That's all we can do.”

Jordan scowled and kicked at the bench Derek was sprawled so comfortably on. His cousin hid behind sunglasses but Jordan knew the calm was fake. It just happened to add to Jordan’s frustration, like some kind of side channel that let him absorb the emotionality that Derek guarded so well against.

“You could set him on fire,” Derek added. That wasn't helpful because Jordan had been seriously considering that himself and he didn't need someone to add fuel to that particular bad idea. He glared. Derek shrugged.

“We just make sure he keeps breathing. He knows how to take care of himself, you can definitely trust me on that. Even if it seems stupid sometimes, he can do that,” he said. And Jordan did actually believe him on that point. It just didn't give him any easy solutions to the problem across the park grove.

Jordan hit his boiling point about an hour later when he had to watch Stiles submit to a kiss in order to ask to go to the bathroom in a public place. Derek didn't even try to stop him when Jordan moved to face Kyle once Stiles had left. They were in a public place, in a big city tourist trap district, so as long as they didn't mess with Stiles, there was no reason they couldn't be seen.

“Afternoon,” Jordan said, a polite greeting turned cold as he stood over Kyle’s table outside the cafe. He had Derek at his shoulder, maybe not an active participant in Jordan’s agenda, but at least a willing peacekeeper. Kyle took his time recognizing them. He offered no smile in return.

“Good observation, Deputy. It is in fact the afternoon,” Kyle said. “And you are very far from home. Are you lost?”

“Not at all. I wanted a word with you, if you have the time?” Jordan kept up the professional demeanor as best he could. As if Kyle was just another pervy perp doing questionable things with an underaged omega, on a routine traffic stop having a public chat. Kyle looked down at the phone in his hand, then around at the cafe’s outdoor dining area.

“You’re not in uniform so this must not be any kind of official visit,” said Kyle. He shrugged and then shook his head. “I am a really busy man, Deputy. I don't have the time.”

“I’ll keep it short then,” replied Jordan. “You’re aware that Stiles is still underaged, right? You are publicly pressuring an omega not yet eighteen. You should probably lay off.”

Kyle smiled up at him. “He’ll let me know when he isn't comfortable with it. We have an arrangement.”

“Contracts with minor omegas are not binding,” Jordan returned. “You know that as well as I do. How much do you think he’ll tolerate when he finds out you’re playing him on that arrangement?”

Kyle’s smug face darkened. He settled what he was doing on his phone and slipped it in his pocket. Then he got to his feet, tucked the chair in at the table.

“Deputy, my time is up. If you wish to discuss my business any further, you and your attorney can make an appointment with mine. Until then, stay away. And I'll remind you, my time with Stiles is court appointed. I would not do anything to endanger that, which is why he already has a chaperone with him. He does not need your additional input.”

The two men stared at each other, anger in check but their distaste clear.

“Keep your hands off of the boys,” Jordan said. “Both of them. The court didn't appoint you a harem. You get two days a week to get to know Stiles, not get him pregnant.”

“And thankfully, neither he nor I want kids, so that’s not an issue for us. However, he did ask to stay the week, so you’re a bit behind the times,” said Kyle. “Maybe you should get out of things that don't concern you.”

“Maybe you should listen more carefully,” replied Jordan. “The court granted you two days, and left the rest of the week to his father’s discretion. Any arrangement you make with a minor omega isn't binding. He’ll be home by noon tomorrow, according to the arrangement you made with the court.”

Kyle scowled at the reminder and checked his phone rather than acknowledge the facts. Then he started to back away. “I’ll take that into account. Excuse me, Deputy.”

Jordan watched the coward turn and leave the enclosure around the cafe. He glanced at Derek, noted the small smile of approval and figured that meant he had taken the right track with Kyle.

“I didn't hit him,” Jordan offered up.

“You’re one-up on Stiles,” replied Derek. “Congrats.”

***


	18. Chapter 18

Since they were there, Derek and Jordan ordered an early dinner to go. There was no sense following Kyle at that point; if they did, the man would probably call the SFPD and stick them with stalking. It was just as well to make the man paranoid, make him think they were lurking over his shoulder. Maybe if there was some good in the world Carrington would take stock of his behavior and think twice about his actions before he inflicted them on Stiles just because Stiles had a couple of alphas watching over him somewhere nearby. It didn't seem likely, but Jordan worked hard to think positively.

They collected their to-go bags of fat and greasy foods and walked out of the cafe. On the off chance that Carrington took the boys home, Derek had to get fed and drop back to all fours to jump the fence into the backyard again. They couldn't stall too long or Stiles might worry; he couldn't exactly text a wolf.

Jordan frowned at his phone as they left, a little concerned himself why he hadn't heard from Stiles yet. Derek had seen the boys sneak out the side door while Jordan talked with Carrington, so they knew Stiles had bailed on his ungracious host, but they didn't know why or what Stiles might be scheming. There was no text message, no voicemail. It was kind of odd considering Stiles had been texting at least once every fifteen minutes all day so far.

Not even halfway to Jordan’s borrowed car, an unfortunately familiar voice angrily called out for their attention.

“Deputy!”

Both Jordan and Derek turned to see Kyle Carrington jogging toward them. If the tone of his voice hadn't been enough of a clue that something was wrong, the speed of his approach certainly was. He was angry, but he was worried, and that was a surprise.

“Where did they go?” Carrington demanded. Jordan squinted at him.

“Who?” he asked. There was no way the man meant that as it sounded. Carrington got in his space and grabbed the front of his shirt, a clear warning.

“Stiles. And Shawn. They’re gone. So if you set up some kind of intentional distraction with that little scene back there-”

“No, I saw you and wanted to make you start treating him right, but I wasn't going to take him from you,” Jordan said quickly. Not until noon on Monday anyway. “You can't find them? It's a big park-”

Carrington seemed to weigh out if he wanted to trust him. Then shook his head. He held up his phone and showed them a text message. “He said they would meet me at the car. But I got there and they’re gone. The damn tires were slashed. And I thought it was a joke after the goddamn dog this morning,” he said.

Jordan looked to Derek for confirmation, but his cousin was checking the phone in his pocket too. Stiles hadn't tried texting him once all weekend but it was the first place to rule out. When that seemed to be a negative, Jordan caught the shoulder of Carrington’s jacket and steered him toward the way he had come from.

“Show us the car,” he ordered. Kyle jerked free of the cop-handling but complied all the same. As they jogged the distance back toward the parking lot, Derek kept trying to call Stiles’ cell phone. It kept going to voicemail, not waiting even a single ring.

***

The car was exactly as described. For once Kyle Carrington actually told the truth. Derek sniffed around the scene and dug a nasty looking arrow tip out of the slashed tire. It was hunters.

“Stiles hasn't been here in hours,” Derek told Jordan, quiet, out of Kyle’s potential eavesdropping. “He's on the seats inside, but nothing outside.”

“We just saw him not even a half hour ago,” said Jordan. “Would you be able to pick him up if he had been here?”

Derek nodded, looked around. He waved vaguely at the clear, calm day. “No rain. There should be something.”

Jordan scanned the parking area for the hundredth time since arriving. On a desperate hope, he climbed into the front seat and tried to will some strange dream to hit him. Something that could help. He heard the cawing of birds and the screeching of kids in the park, the traffic of the road beside him... nothing useful.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kyle demanded.

“Thinking,” Jordan returned. He held up the arrow tip Derek had shown him. “Your brokers slashed your tires. Pieces of these arrow bolts are inside the tires. Any idea where they would go?”

“What? No...” To his credit, Carrington looked shocked and disturbed by the news. Derek seemed to accept it so Jordan didn't question further. He got out of the car.

“Call SFPD. Get a team out here. We’ll start searching the park from the cafe. Maybe we can find something. Maybe they’re just hiding because Stiles saw the tires. I don't know,” said Jordan. “And you call his dad.”

“Woah! This isn't my fault-” protested Kyle.

Jordan wasn't impressed by the complaint. “No, but it happened while you had custody. He was your responsibility. You failed to keep track of him, so it's your responsibility to tell his family.”

Carrington went paperwhite under his dark haired afternoon stubble. His careful rich-boy maintenance couldn't hide how much he didn't want to make that phone call. Jordan glared at him, shoved the arrow tip at his chest until Carrington took it.

“You started this,” Jordan told him. “You should start praying we can fix it. Call the cops and get help.”

As Kyle processed the order, Jordan turned to follow Derek back into the park to hunt for Stiles and Shawn. They were a couple omega in a park. Hopefully Derek’s werewolf senses could pick out the smell of his pack’s omega from the crowd.

 

***

 

They took the less direct route back to the cafe because Derek hadn't picked up anything at all on the main walkway. This trail was still paved, but it was narrower, went by denser vegetation. Not meant for baby strollers and amataur photographers. The cafe was in sight when Derek suddenly stopped. He doubled back and poked off the paved path into a small stand of trees. He chased a small black bird away from something shiny by a birch tree.

“Got something-”

Whatever Derek was saying was lost the second Jordan stepped off the asphalt onto the dirt and leaf-strewn floor. He caught an unidentifiable scent and feeling and warmth of what he could only tie to an obscure memory as familiar. The park’s birds screeched and complained and all flew away at once, raising a deafening raucous and throwing shadows. Then Derek was gone.

Standing where he had was a woman. She looked trim and mean and battle worn, but still feminine enough to wear heeled boots in the park. Beside her crouched a few men that looked like high school linebackers set out to pasture years ago. And Jordan recognized them. He had seen them with Peter, at midnight, when Peter sold Jordan’s father to them. Was that tonight? Was it here, at the park? Jordan looked around, trying to figure out where exactly this vision was coming from, looking for some familiar landmark.

He found the path that he and Derek had just been standing in, the cafe at the end of it. Jordan stepped back to the path, away from the silent watchers. The pieces clicked. This was where they caught Stiles.

A heartbeat later, he saw Stiles and Shawn heading along the path.

“Nononono no...” Jordan didn't know what to do. He didn't want to watch this again. He rushed forward as Stiles got closer, as though he could block Stiles’ path. Jordan barely registered that his arms burned, it wasn't a pain, just a warmth. He associated it with fear and dismissed it. He waved his arms and shouted in a vain effort at getting Stiles’ attention.

“Stiles! Don't! You need to go back!” The order was accompanied by a blocking motion, hand to Stiles’ chest to stop him. Stiles did stop then, swore and brushed at his shirt, like he had been stung. Like he had felt Jordan’s hand there. Jordan stared at his lightly glowing red palm and backed off, surprised and afraid to hurt Stiles.

“What happened?” Shawn asked him. Stiles shook his head, still trying to brush off whatever had stung him.

“I dunno. A bee or something maybe?” He kept them walking and Jordan backed out of their way, afraid to hurt them. Instead, he moved back to where the hunters hid; maybe he could blow their cover. Stiles and Shawn could run if they knew what they were walking into. He dragged a burning hand across the nearest hunter’s jaw. His hand warped and disappeared, but the hunter recoiled like he had been stung, just as Stiles had. It sent him into a bushy tree and that was enough. Jordan turned in time to see Stiles stop and look around. He caught at Shawn and pulled him back behind him, protecting his friend from whatever he sensed but couldn't see.

“Go back!” Jordan shouted at him. Maybe they could hear him if he tried hard enough.

“This is the wrong way,” Stiles told Shawn. Shawn hardly had a chance to ask before the hunters moved out to the path from their various hiding places in the brush. Every one of them was armed, weapons casually at their sides or in holsters easily hidden in the public place. It was hard not to notice that it took a group of five hunters to corner two omegas.

“No heroics, ‘mega. The baby is the only one we are worried about,” said the woman with the accent. “You aren't worth nearly as much.”

Jordan tried to burn the woman’s face as he had her thug’s, but the crows weren't having it. There was a noise from the flapping of wings and the flying of shadows. Then Jordan found himself on the ground, Derek next to him and holding a vice grip around his wrists to keep him from touching anything flammable.

“Damnit!” Jordan was out of breath as reality crushed back in on him. He had been so close. Derek watched him, concerned.

“What did you see?”

Jordan shook his head, still processing. When he felt a little more in control, his hands had stopped glowing, Derek helped him back up to his feet.

“They’re getting clearer,” he told Derek. But it wasn't enough. Now he had to figure out what to do with the visions. Derek put a couple of cellphones in his hand; Stiles’ phone he recognized right away.

“Was there anything useful at least?” Derek asked, annoyed at the lack of progress toward finding Stiles. Jordan nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. He looked to his phone, couldn't find what he needed, and then looked to Derek. “We need to get Peter.”

 

***

 

After the day Stiles had already been through, he was on a hair trigger. It took everything in him to sit and be still in the middle bench of the hunter’s van. Shawn was a well-trained, timid omega, though. And there was no way Stiles could keep Shawn from getting hurt if he tried to fight his way out like he wanted. He wasn't doing so great at thinking his way out of things in the omega world, he noticed; there was always something still out there that he didn't know about until it bit him in the ass. Trying to keep Kyle and Jordan and Derek out of a fight seemed like a logical, reasonable effort. There was no possible way he could have seen a hunter retrieval squad coming for them in the middle of San Francisco.

In short, life hated him and he needed to just sit and be still and try to calm down, because there was not a single thing he could do about the cosmos ganging up on him. He didn't actually want to die yet, and hunters didn't arm themselves just to show off. Anger burned but Stiles recognized he was in no place to take action. He needed to wait, gather information, and try to make sense of what was going on. These weren't demons, no one was in his head except himself, so he could observe.

Beside him on the bench, buckled in snug against the window, Shawn was silently freaking out. He had already been losing it. This was going to put him over the edge. And he kept looking to Stiles for guidance.

“Is this what it was for you before?” he asked, quiet under the van’s obnoxious stereo system. It gave Stiles the perfect opportunity to help his friend, even if it wasn't a bold and daring escape point to safety.

“Yeah,” he lied. “We’ll be okay.”

 

***

 

They were taken to a place north, well out of the city, along the curvy, sunny Pacific Coast Highway. The main highway collected tourist attractions while the hillsides that lined it hid the more permanent communities from view. They ended up in a house with an Acreage For Sale sign hanging by a single chain from a very old post. Stiles tried to take notes, he counted the cars in the dirt driveway and tried to look for other buildings. It was tucked away behind grass covered hills and worn barbed wire fences, and aside from the cars looked forgotten and abandoned. They were miles from help. Stiles was pretty sure that if he ever made it home, he never wanted to leave Beacon Hills again.

It was probably around five in the afternoon when they were walked up onto the old wrap-around porch and let into the house. There wasn't much resembling furniture in the house, like maybe they had moved into an empty house and weren't planning on staying long. It seemed very temporary. They dumped Stiles and Shawn in the first room they found, an office probably based on the shelves mounted into the walls. The door didn't lock them in but Stiles heard a shuffling noise, like something heavy was moved in to block it. The handle turned so Stiles opened the door, only to find a solid wood table had been set over the doorframe from the other side. It was heavy and precariously balanced so Stiles didn't try pushing it away. He just closed the door, went to the windows to investigate those. Shawn took the room’s one chair when Stiles told him to. When the sun went down they sat in the dark, because the light switch in the room didn't work.

It felt like hours before the table blocking the door moved away. A hunter brought in a camp lantern so they had light and Shawn was given a bag of food to eat. It was inhaled like he hadn't seen food in a week, so Stiles didn't get a good look at what it was. Stiles sat on the floor and let one of the hunters check him over like it was a doctor’s office. He let them check for temperature, check his heart rate, and they asked questions like did he have all of his shots and when was his last heat. Stiles didn't know why they were asking, so he answered them.

He wasn't expecting it when the hunter told him to stand up and put his hands on the wall. He gave Stiles a pat down like he was a perp facing arrest, except the man didn't watch where he put his hands. He also checked the tags on Stiles’ shirt and jeans. Everything was written down on a post-it pad with the help of a small penlight that blinded Stiles every time it was turned on. Then the hunter caught Stiles by the back of the neck and steered him out of the room. Somebody else went in to check up on Shawn then and Stiles didn't have much of a chance to protest. They went one more room down a short hall. The whole house was dark and Stiles felt disoriented and blind by comparison to the quick-moving hunter who knew his way around.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked when the man let go of his neck just to grab his shoulder instead.

“Bedtime for you,” said the hunter, cheerful, like that wasn't the creepiest thing he could have said. Stiles expected they would drug him after that statement and he pulled away, ready to run blind rather than get drugged. But the hunter pulled a taser baton and lit it up as a clear threat. Stiles went still. He looked around the room, saw nothing useful in the shadows, just a bunch of huge boxes or something covered in blankets so he couldn't see what they were, and a couple of mattresses piled with pillows and blankets across the room furthest from the door. The hunter called him a good boy, like a dog, and put the baton back in the holster at his hip. Then he started digging at one of the blankets that covered the boxes. He lifted it up, swung out a metal gate, and pointed at the hidden opening.

“Inside.”

Stiles could only stare at the covered cage the man was ordering him into. “Are you shitting me?”

“Wanna see what happens when you take a taser to a pregnant omega?” The hunter asked. He didn't sound friendly or joking at all. “Especially when they’re about to pop. Your buddy is, what, maybe a week from due?”

Stiles realized then he should have made a bigger scene at the park. Rather than risk it now, though, he held up his hands and climbed into the half wood, half metal crate. It had blankets and pillows of its own. But that didn't make it comfortable. And it wasn't exactly reassuring that it was only barely big enough for one human at a time.

 

***


	19. Chapter 19

It was weird, calling Peter Hale on the phone. Jordan wanted nothing at all to do with the man. And suddenly he was trusting him with a good portion of his life, from another city. The crazy werewolf was completely unsupervised and off the leash. He was a threat. And somehow Jordan had to scrounge up the faith in him that Derek and Stiles showed when they went to him for help. It felt gross as well as stupid. But he had seen it happen. Peter had negotiated with the people who took Stiles and Shawn. The only question left for Jordan was if it had happened already or if it was slated to happen. And Jordan still didn't trust Peter enough to ask that question from his own cellphone with its unblocked ID, so he used Derek’s to do it.

“Well, this is a surprise. What could my dear nephew be calling me for? A little birdie told me you’re playing guard dog for our favorite omega, so I thought you were a bit busy,” came Peter’s arrogant and amused greeting. Derek sat behind the wheel of their borrowed car, so he heard the ridiculous ramble and scoffed, rolled his eyes. Jordan just clenched his jaw, tried to center a little before speaking.

“I borrowed Derek’s cell. He has your number, I don't,” said Jordan eventually.

There was a pause. He could almost hear Peter recalibrating. “Really? We should fix that.”

“I know how to reach you if I need to again,” Jordan replied. “What did you find out about the hunters that took Stiles?”

“They aren't local. I lost them around the cutoff to San Francisco. But they've been to town a few times this week,” said Peter. He didn't sound at all surprised.

“Where’s my dad?” Jordan asked.

“Which one?” returned Peter. “I’m at home, where I belong, staying out of trouble. Ten out of ten would recommend...”

“No. JT. Where is he?”

“He's not exactly on my radar so I don't know.” Peter huffed, annoyed if Jordan had to guess, and a stack of papers - maybe a book? - slapped against a table or something over the phone.

“Do you think you could contact the hunters? How much did you find out about them?”

“What are you getting at, Jordan?” Peter asked, suspicious. And Jordan figured he was right to be.

“They took Stiles and Shawn. I need your help to find him,” said Jordan. Somehow he didn't choke on the words. “And if you can contact them, I have an idea. If you can't, we have nothing and he's gone.”

There was a pause as Peter processed the information. “I know where to look. What are you thinking?”

Jordan had to force himself to share the idea then. He hadn't even put the plan to Derek yet. It was probably crazy. But it was still the best they had. He had to trust his gut, even if he didn't trust Peter.

“Sell my dad to the hunters. The woman’s with the breeders. She’ll take the bait and then we just have to figure out how to follow them back to wherever they’ve got Stiles.”

The set of Derek’s jaw said he had an opinion on the plan but he kept quiet. Peter also sat in silence a suspiciously long time.

“Is this some kind of a joke, Deputy?” he finally asked.

“I’m not really in a mood to laugh, Hale. I don't have the time.” Jordan accidentally matched the man’s suspicious tone and he stared at the star-shaped emblem on the dashboard of his father’s car as the weight of that simple realization sunk in.

“You're serious?” said Peter. “You want me to sell- I mean, I will. I can certainly do that. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't considered it once or twice...”

“Not helpful,” Jordan reminded him. “I need you to be helpful. Stiles needs our help. If you’re part of his pack, you have to help him, right?”

“Well, I don't _have_ to, but it's better for everyone if I do,” said Peter. There was quiet for far too long after that.

“Please help?” Jordan finally asked. “I’ll call the sheriff. You’ll have him and my dad for help. It’s not really safe to ask anyone else.”

“What you're asking isn't exactly _safe_ ,” Peter said, ever so helpful. “But. As it happens. My schedule is wide open, I can gladly plant us an omega, see what pops up.”

Jordan let it sit there a moment, too many thoughts in his head reminding him of all the reasons this was a bad idea.

“Don't make me regret this, Peter. I'm trusting you _once_ ,” he finally said.

“Hey, family isn't perfect,” Peter replied. “Don't set the bar too high or anything. I’ll check back in two hours.”

And then Peter hung up, because Jordan had scared him off by being honest. _Great_. Jordan scrunched his nose and gave the phone back to Derek.

“That was stupid,” Derek informed him, helpfully blunt. “You can't trust Peter with a _puppy_. He shouldn't be anywhere near your dad.”

“Yeah,” said Jordan, nodding in full agreement. He looked at his cousin. “But I saw my dad _with_ Stiles and Shawn. I saw him with Peter and the hunters. If Dad’s the only chance Shawn and the baby have in there, I don't know how else to set it up. The sheriff can't.”

“They’re hunters. They don't exactly like Peter either,” said Derek. “Your _dad_ doesn't exactly like Peter.”

Jordan shrugged it off. “Dad would be pissed if something happened to those two and we didn't let him help.”

“Yeah, but you might have given him a chance to disagree with how to go about it,” said Derek. “You just sicced a psycho on him. And the sheriff.”

He sounded resigned, like he was letting Jordan call the shots, but it wasn't with ready agreement. Jordan didn't fully agree with himself either, but he had to trust it could go right.

“I saw what I saw. This has to be how it works.”

 

***

It wasn't long before Carrington tapped on the window of the car.

“The police are on their way,” he informed them. “You have to give a report.”

Jordan looked to Derek; it wasn't like they had any leads to go on anyway. Derek had followed what remained of a scent to an empty parking spot. They would need the local cops to pull any surveillance camera feeds in the area. And in this case, maybe Carrington and his money were the best way to get results to swing in the omegas’ favor for once.

They waited at the cafe for the SFPD, and Carrington wasted no time in throwing Jordan under the bus as a stalker who had been following the boys all morning. It wasn't like Jordan hadn't expected it. So he produced his badge and patiently explained to the officers that he and his cousin had been asked, by both the missing omega and the teenager’s father, to keep track of them.

“So far, Mr. Carrington has shown himself incapable of keeping Stiles from harm, so Stiles told me where they were and texted me to make sure we were around,” Jordan told them. He even offered to show the officers the text messages. “He hasn't felt safe all weekend.”

“When Kyle found out about it, we stopped,” Derek added in. “And then fifteen minutes later, he comes running to us because the boys were taken. He can't even watch them for fifteen minutes.”

They even showed the officers where they had found Stiles and Shawn’s phones. All the same, the officer advised them not to go anywhere until the boys were found. So they sat at the cafe and waited, in plain sight of Carrington as the man’s security tech, lawyers, and then personal assistant showed up. They held a meeting in hushed, angry voices - which seemed to amuse the eavesdropping Derek - and the assistant spent most of the time either texting or making phone calls and pulling strings.

For all Carrington was worthless as a human being in general, he was at least organized about it. In no time at all, Kyle was in front of video cameras with the park as the perfect serene backdrop. He pushed omega safety like a politician, as if two kids with a target on their backs made for some kind of endemic plague on society. And because Kyle liked to make shit up, Derek and Jordan were stuck watching him work through reporter after reporter, endless interviews, just to keep someone from singling them out publicly as suspects.

It was a half hour before Jordan’s conscience started to bug him. He was certain he had seen the way things would happen if the pieces were pulled together right. He didn't have much faith in Peter necessarily, but he was sure he could trust whatever he was tapping into that was so much bigger than Peter.

His dad was going into everything completely blind, though. That wasn't fair to JT. Especially if anyone in Beacon Hills at all was being subjected to the media circus Kyle Carrington had called because his underaged omega and innocent friend had been kidnapped from the park when they stepped away for five minutes in line for the restroom.

Amidst all of that chaos, Jordan couldn't bring himself to call his dad to ask permission to enlist him as he had. It was better to ask forgiveness for some things after they had happened. When the outcome proved it a worthwhile risk. But it didn't sit well with him in the meantime. He was trying to cover his ass and keep from being accused of kidnapping Stiles, when in reality he had arranged worse than that for his own father.

Trying to find a middle ground to help the moral gray area find a resolution that wouldn't distract him so badly, Jordan snagged his cell phone and fired off the most hypocritical text message he had ever sent in his life.

“Trust Peter.” was all it said. His dad didn't reply.

 

***


	20. Chapter 20

From what Stiles could tell, there were four other people in the room with him. He couldn't be sure though because when he tried to get someone to talk, one of the voices would hiss at them to be quiet.

“No talking! They’ll be mad!” they whispered so loudly they might as well have been yelling. It echoed around in Stiles’ head, reminded him of sitting in his omega classes, waiting for the period bell to ring so that the so-called science teacher would stand up and actually teach instead of stare at them like a creeper. The lesson of course to that daily routine was that omega should be orderly, prompt, patient, and respectful, and even in classes Stiles chafed at it. It was controlling and abusive and infringed on their free time between classes, in his opinion, but that was probably because the same expectations on the alpha track classes usually didn't last a week before the anarchy of the high school body took over. Not that Stiles generally advocated accelerated anarchy but he definitely was no fan of enforced silence.

Silence was harsh and loud when experienced in the confines of a reinforced dog kennel.

“I'm hungry and I need to take a piss,” Stiles announced, trying to get someone to answer him with more than a “Yeah” or a “no” and resorting to extreme measures against his sensitive omega-trained cellmates. There were a few disapproving noises at the blunt over-share but nothing substantial.

“Seriously, I will start yelling about it at the top of my lungs,” Stiles warned. “And I can go into _extensive_ , explicit _detail_ about the workings of my digestive track, so, I mean, I'm not sure telling me to shut up is going to save you anything.”

“There’s rules, okay?” someone finally said. It was an awkward, uncomfortable vibe from everyone, but no one argued the voice telling Stiles the odds. “Just use the can like everybody else and shut up.”

Stiles could barely see the outline of the coffee can in the corner of his oversized kennel. It was completely draped over by a blanket, so he couldn't see out, and no one could see in. And there was a coffee can in the corner of it that he was supposed to use rather than ask for the bathroom.

“What the hell-” The oath was met by an almost audible collective wincing and more shushing.

“If you want food, you have to ask for it,” the other omega’s voice reported, hesitance edged with shame. “And if you can't wait until they let you out, then if you want out for anything, you have to do stuff to earn it. It's not worth it. Just wait.”

Stiles let the shock settle in a moment before he turned his attention to the door lock. He was blind but he could feel his way around the lock, maybe he could get lucky for once in his short life... the fae blessing that put him in a dog kennel had to be useful for _something_ other than the _curse_ it had been so far... _how did fae work their magic..._ maybe he had something genetic he could tap into... maybe he somehow had just never pa _nicked hard enough in his nearly eighteen years on the planet_ for it to kick in...

The loop of desperate hopes and terrified thoughts brought him no closer to figuring out how to bust a MasterLock with his bare hands. He couldn't even find the hinges to try prying at. Stiles could hardly breathe as it all sunk in on him. This was the nightmare reality he had studied online so much that it had kept him off the Omega Track. This wasn't just a casual broker. He wasn't just another hostage. This didn't end with a rich jerk and an illegal marriage certificate, there was no easy cash exchange and off to some new home to play manservant and housekeeper.

“Breeders?” he managed to ask. Nobody corrected him. Stiles wrapped his fingers through the bars and shook the gate of the collapsible kennel. “Jeezusfuck...”

“They really don't like it when we swear,” someone offered. The voice was fearful, female, and she sounded not far from panic herself if Stiles could trust his own hearing just then. He stopped yanking at the bars, leaned into the corner instead to try to think. He had to clear his mind somehow. That was hard to do in a tiny, pitch black space, surrounded by the random sniffles from scared and hungry omegas. His distress fueled theirs. If they weren't careful, they could lock themselves into the negative feedback loop and their omega hormones would tank into depression and withdrawal. That would make everything ten times worse. And it would make their captors’ job that much easier.

But for Stiles, logic took a back seat just then to the absolute paralyzing fear of facing the very thing he had worked to avoid since he was ten years old. The panic settled in his chest and he collapsed on his side, trying to breathe, afraid to make noise so he didn't cry. He felt his heart race and thought for a second it might actually explode. He was not even eighteen and actually, genuinely concerned about dying of heart failure. That was new. Monsters and demons and werewolves and banshees could scream at him all they wanted, a nogitsune could crawl inside his head and try to kick him out, and his heart would keep going. He could fight back. He always had something he could do, even if it was just to run away. It had nothing to do with his status as an omega and everything to do with him just being human and squishy.

Now? He was stuck in a cage, where human and squishy wasn't important. The offerings he provided as an Omega were important. His personal needs - the basic human ones, like food, or a freaking toilet - were nothing more than an afterthought. Somebody thought he was a good luck charm, they thought he was blessed by the cosmos, they thought he was special and fragile, and that reduced him to something they could contain and possess. Something owned.

A some _thing_ , not a some _one_.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

Paralyzed from fears of what was coming, from anxiety and pain at the acceptance of the notion that he had never asked for or done anything to deserve where he was, Stiles just lay there and worried about himself first. It wasn't something he was good at. And maybe that's why he ended up where he did. If he hadn't put his friends first for so long, hadn't tried to protect Shawn from something bigger than the both of them, maybe he could have seen this coming. He could have acted differently. Shawn wouldn't be there with him. The thought that followed that, of course, was that maybe his dad would have been with him, maybe his dad would be dead... the inevitable determination of fate was impossible to predict. Who knew what could have happened. It didn't matter. He was still locked up, with the promise of starvation and mess and withdrawals and everything bad.

It seemed like an eternity for the attack to pass. When his breathing returned to normal, his mind stopped looping, his insides stopped threatening to tear him apart, Stiles tried to focus on what was important out of the whole mess.

Just what exactly was he going to do about it now that he was in it? They expected the perfect omega, raised up in the track and obedient to the rules.

But Stiles didn't know the rules. He had ignored the existence of omegas as an entire class of people since he had decided not to take the Omega Track. He had grown up as an alpha, with the obnoxious extra requirements of very careful personal hygiene regimen once a month. He was an awkward, bumbling, random and intelligent teenager who played sports and outran werewolves. He could not sit in a cage and take orders without going crazy.

Stiles was certain that the hunters didn't have the first clue what kind of a problem they had stolen. Maybe that was his only advantage.

 

***

 

When the public outcry was as riled as Kyle Carrington, Computer Mogul and Omega Advocate, could possibly make it, Jordan and Derek were invited back to Kyle’s place. Neither party trusted each other and Kyle was interested in covering his ass with the courts _and_ Stiles’ dad. By then, Kyle had been informed by his security guard who Jordan was and who Jordan’s mother was; _strangely_ , an Omega Court judge had _some_ sway with the man who was trying to plead innocent to hiring brokers to kidnap the omega son of a county sheriff. Jordan and Derek were babysitters, his proof that he’d had nothing to do with Stiles’ disappearance, more so than they were having to prove their own lack of involvement.

They showed up, parked Jordan’s truck outside the fancy gates to the property, and accepted the invitation to verify that Carrington wasn't behind the scheme this time. Derek already knew his way around and the second he was inside the door, he started searching the house.

“What- _excuse me_ \- what in _hell_ do you think you are doing?” Kyle asked, the picture of forced politeness as he deferred to Jordan.

“He’s looking for Stiles and Shawn,” Jordan informed him. “Does this place have security cameras?”

Kyle spluttered a little as Derek started up the stairs, completely unsupervised. The man narrowed his eyes and made a decision to talk and follow. “Yes.”

“We should check them,” said Jordan.

“For what?”demanded Kyle. “They were taken from the park.”

“Where’s Stiles’ _dog_?” Derek asked. He went to check on Stiles’ guest room. A moment later he was back in the hall, headed for Kyle’s bedroom. “He has a companion animal. Technically he’s even a member of the sheriff’s department. The wolf is supposed to go everywhere with him.”

“He’s outside,” Kyle reported. He looked pissed off but a little bit worried. Jordan had to look away to hide a smile. Derek pointed out the sliding glass doors that went to a patio that overlooked the backyard.

“Where?” Derek asked. “I don't see him from here.”

Kyle seemed to suspect a trick but he went to the doors to check. It was just about sunset then, and the yard had a faint glow to it from the help of the last rays of the day. All the same, Kyle flicked a switch on the wall by the door and security lights lit up the grass below. No wolf.

“I don't- we left him here this morning-” Kyle floundered and Jordan silently thanked his cousin’s ruthlessness.

“ _That's_ why we need to see the camera feeds,” said Jordan. He was quite happy to pick up that lie. “Maybe whoever took them came here first. Unless you told them where the boys would be, they had to have been following you, or somehow had access to whatever schedule you keep...”

“I didn't tell anyone,” Carrington said.

“You weren't exactly hard to follow, either,” replied Derek. He cleared Carrington’s closet and bathroom and was on his way out. Jordan trusted the werewolf nose and trailed along with Carrington to keep an eye on the man. They cleared another room with Kyle complaining that they were terrible cops if they didn't notice that they were being followed by someone as they followed him to the park. Then he followed Derek back down stairs and throughout the house.

After a few days dealing with him as a wolf, Derek had apparently learned Kyle’s soft targets and he made sure he hit every one he could on the excuse of searching the house for Stiles and Shawn. When Jordan’s phone went off, Derek was arguing with Kyle about an omega’s place in the home as he demanded access to the basement, so Jordan figured Derek was capable of keeping the man busy on his own. He stepped into the kitchen to find his boss’s number on the cellphone screen.

“Sheriff,” Jordan greeted. It sounded cold to him, the professional, banked anger fresh from his forced tolerance of Kyle Carrington under the circumstances. “How are you holding up?”

“Why am I _holding up_? What _happened_?”

There was a dead pause as Jordan realized Kyle had lied. Again. “Carrington said he called you. Hours ago.”

“Nobody called me. What happened?” There was more emphasis this time, and the already worried tone notched up a bit. Jordan scrubbed at his face, stuck, completely unprepared for how to deliver the news now hours late.

“Carrington was with Stiles and Shawn in the park in San Francisco. He left them alone to tell off Derek and I for being in the park at the same time, and the boys were taken. Whoever it was has probably been following them all weekend because they were in the city yesterday, too.”

“Why wasn't I told-”

“Carrington said he called you, because of the court issues. Then he called a press conference. It's been all over the news down here... I’m sorry, sir. I should have followed up.” And, Jordan realized, there was no legitimate reason he hadn't, he’d just been stuck in his own guilty conscience. He had sold out his own father on a risky gamble, his mind was a little distracted. “I think the hunters who took them were with some of the men from the last time. I can't prove it yet, but I think it's related.”

“I knew this shit would- _I knew it_ -” Stiles’ father was not having a good night. He sounded exhausted. He wasn't even forming full sentences.

“It’ll work out, Boss. I know it will,” said Jordan. He felt like a liar, but he was working very hard at believing he had made the right call.

“How the hell do you know that?” asked Stilinski. “Think about it, Jordan. If this is connected to last time? Those guys have been to court since then. That _shithead_ cost them money, added to their records, and threw them under the bus, and _still_ walked off with-” He couldn't seem to finish the sentence even though he tried a couple of times. “They’ll be mad. Working some kind of vendetta...”

“I get it, sir. But I think it’ll be okay. I can't explain.”

“Is this a dream thing? Like last week with your dad?” asked the sheriff. “Did somebody get burned-”

“I can't explain right now, sir. We’re at Carrington’s place, making sure he's not behind it. We’re waiting on news, too.”

There was some grumbling, the sound of things being thrown across a room to hit a wall or something. “Well, I've got some for you, too. Probably not what you were looking for though.”

There was actually something akin to excitement jolting through Jordan as the sheriff told him his father had gone missing. No normal, sane person would be happy that their family member had been stolen from the sheriff’s backyard. But Jordan saw it as confirmation. He had been on the right track. The crows hadn't let him down.

“Sheriff... I can't explain right this second, so you’ll have to trust me. But... contact Peter Hale. Tell him I told you to and ask him how you can help.” Jordan said. “It’ll work out.”

“You've lost your damn mind,” complained the sheriff, with plenty of reason. Jordan nodded at the cellphone in agreement.

“Probably. But as long as we find Stiles, a little crazy can't hurt.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~btw... this fic is now DONE!! I'm just going through and slowly proofing the remainder so I'm not going to post ALL of it today. But what's ready to go will be posted! :) ~


	21. Chapter 21

By the time sunlight filtered through the blanket over the cage, Stiles was breathing more easily. He had calmed overnight, not really achieving much sleep but he had eventually passed out from exhaustion. It had helped. It was a slight relief to know he could still fall asleep and wake up again, that he still had that one consistent bit of “normal” in his life.

He woke up in a dog cage, which was not an acceptable normal, but he at least woke up. That was more than he was counting on when he passed out.

Audible signs of life came from other parts of the room, other omegas in cages greeting their miserable existences in whatever ways they had grown to accept. There were was a single empty cage in the room from what Stiles could tell, and rather than think about what went on in the occupied cells, he wondered what happened to their sixth. Maybe there was only meant to be four. Maybe it was all a temporary holding station. Where did the other omegas go? It was a rather important concern but not one Stiles had enough information to answer. It was a distraction from the rumble in his gut though.

“Do we get breakfast?” he ventured to ask the room. Everything was quiet for what seemed like an hour as scared omegas waited for an armed hunter to charge the room.

“Mostly,” came the eventual quiet reply. It wasn't very helpful. Sitting still wasn't something Stiles was great at. He was hungry. His mind was working. He felt remarkably clear headed and aware compared to the last time he had run up against hunters. He was a week out from withdrawals and he was healing. He was hungry and impatient. And bored. It was somewhat concerning that he wasn't more anxious and worried than bored, but he reasoned there was a certain sense of the inevitable about everything.

All Stiles could do was learn about his new environment. His roommates were not super helpful toward that goal. Instead, he listened to the house. He heard muffled footsteps above them, heard quiet voices. He heard somebody crying somewhere nearby, but it wasn't anyone in the room. Was it Shawn? And then he realized he heard the soft signs of free, uncaged movement inside the room with them. He moved to the front to try catching the edge of the blanket to see around. It took some effort but he was rewarded with the sight of someone sitting on the bed near him. Expensive Nikes and ironed jeans and a buttondown shirt left Stiles guessing it was an omega, not a hunter. The man's head was bowed to his chest, hands cuffed together and draped over his knee further obscuring a face. He was about Stiles’ size probably, there were empty dog crates left in the room, so why didn't he get shoved in a box like everybody else?

Stiles rattled the cage door to wake him up. “Hey!”

There was quiet as the man came around. “Stiles?”

_What the hell-_ The voice was JT’s. Stiles rattled at the door again. He had to be hearing things. “ _No!_ You can't be here!”

But he was. It was definitely JT. He leaned forward to try the door himself, lifted the blanket out of the way a little as he quietly caught Stiles up to speed on the last few hours. It was _Peter’s_ fault, Peter had taken his ring, Peter had made a hefty profit and all it cost him was a fake ID and a few hours pretending not to have claws as he stalked a group of hunters.

“I left Jordan’s ring at home,” said Stiles, somehow relieved as much as ashamed as he tried to process the newest shock of JT’s story. “I didn't want to have to explain it to Kyle. I didn't want to lose it-”

“Good thinking,” JT assured him. He sounded surprisingly serious when he added, “If Peter doesn't give me mine back, I’ll probably kill him.”

“Is he here?”

“Nope.” JT leaned over his knee, looking around the room as he edged closer to the gate of Stiles’ box. He seemed to be doing nothing more interesting than adjusting his shoe but he spoke softer as he got closer. “But he’s not _all_ useless psycho. He said you know how to use these.”

A small bit of rolled canvas, hardly three inches long, slipped between the bars before JT moved back. He also knocked the blanket back down over the door on his way. Stiles scrambled to palm the gift from Peter. It was a lock pick set.

And, as it happened, he did know how to use them. His dad had taught him. His life was weird.

 

***

 

It was little surprise that Stiles’ dad called at daybreak to say he and Peter had tracked down the hunters. No supernatural help this time, either, just plain old fashioned (technically stolen) police technology. The sheriff cinched an ankle monitor around the exhaust pipe of the hunters’ truck while Peter successfully sold off Jordan’s dad. Jordan was only mildly reassured that his father wouldn't hate him forever by the news that the sheriff had been involved in the hand-off.

“We didn't have time to put together anything resembling a team. I didn't want to fuck with paperwork,” the sheriff said. “I'd rather get in there, get him out, and ask forgiveness later. If we have to. Maybe.”

“Understood,” said Jordan. “Plus I’d rather just burn the place down.”

“I get that’s your thing and all, but can we take a pass on the burning houses down?” asked Derek. He sounded cranky. They were all tired. “It didn't work last time.”

Jordan didn't make any promises, just collected the address the sheriff passed along to him. They were about an hour away, just up the Pacific Coast Highway, a tiny little hole in the wall community that people only ever stopped in for gas. He wrote it down and passed the paper to Derek.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. Burning things down didn't work last time,” said Jordan.

“ _Peter_ actually wanted everything done by the book. Said this is just a hydra and we can't keep chopping off heads. He wanted protected proof and the kind of attention that ties them up in the courts for years,” said his boss over the phone. “But we just don't have time-”

The suggestion surprised Jordan enough that he actually shared it with Derek. His cousin huffed, surprised and suspicious. “Peter’s just afraid you’re going to light the place up again.”

“Maybe,” said Jordan. He was still thinking it over. “But he's not wrong. And I think I know how we can get it done.”

“How?” asked Derek and the sheriff in stereo. Jordan shook his head.

“I'm going to check on a few things, boss. I’ll call you back from the road,” he said. Then he hung up. Derek arched an eyebrow at him. Waving for his cousin to follow, Jordan left in search of their reluctant host. Carrington had resources they were about to exploit. If he was going to plaster Stiles’ and Shawn’s faces all over the national news for his own personal gain, he was going to have to sacrifice _just_ a little.

 

***

 

Stiles had unlocked and then closed up the padlock on his gate twice, practicing and trying to get faster at it as he waited for some kind of clue from JT what the plan was. There _had_ to be a plan. It would be no easy task to get four scared Omega to run when he got their doors open, and they still had no clue where Shawn was. All Stiles knew for certain was that he wouldn't bail without the others. If JT knew what the escape route was, he wasn't sharing.

A sudden shout from another part of the house caught their attention. JT stood up, moved around the room as he listened to the walls in an effort to narrow down the source. He pounded on the door to the hallway, earning a vocal protest from the omegas in crates along the walls. Stiles told them to shut up without the slightest hesitation.

“How far along was your friend?” JT asked Stiles. All Stiles could see was the blanket and JT’s shoes, but he knew the door hadn't been opened yet.

“He had two weeks left I think,” Stiles said. “They were supposed to get married on Valentine's Day, then the baby was due after that. Chloe called it off three days ago.”

“Shit, you’re kidding-” The oath was met by more protests from the crates.

“Yeah, and it gets better! Chloe drop-kicked him _right_ into withdrawals at the game. He said his parents disowned him because they couldn't get the Omega Price out of her family. That's why he stayed with me. It was all I could do to help,” said Stiles. A lot of help it turned out to be in the end, but he had tried.

“You know Valentine's Day is three days from now, right?” JT’s question was followed up quickly by another pain filled shout from outside the room and then more pounding on the door. “That poor kid...”

The door burst open then, JT stumbling back from it to trip over the bed. Stiles hit his belly on the blanket over the bottom of his crate, trying to see under the curtain that kept him in the dark.

“It’s started,” said a woman’s voice. “You watch him. Let us know what he needs. Keep him quiet.”

“The boy needs a hospital,” said JT. The man scrabbled up off the bed. Half a dozen shoes crowded the doorway and Stiles couldn't see who was there. But from the sound of ragged breathing, he could guess that Shawn was with them. JT moved away to the door and then walked with a set of rather familiar leather loafers back to the bed. It was definitely Shawn. Stiles clenched a hand around the lock pick set hidden under the blanket.

“He doesn't need a hospital. We will fetch a doctor when the time is here. You watch him, let us know,” the woman’s voice said.

“Then he needs food. He needs tea. He needs-”

“You _watch_. There's no need to cater.”

And then the door slammed shut. Stiles worked the blanket up out of the way so he could look around the room to look for more than shoes. JT helped Shawn to lean against the wall and moved to stack the room’s two mattresses on top of each other so that Shawn could actually reach the mattress to sit without having to fall to the ground. It wasn't until he was seated that Stiles could see his friend’s face. He was bright pink and sweating, looked uncomfortable and afraid, panicked. And his hands shook so badly that JT gave him a pillow to hug. There was no one else in the room though, so Stiles attacked the lock with the lock pick set.

“Shawn! That’s JT. He’s Jordan’s dad. He’s gonna help,” Stiles promised as he worked.

“You- Jordan?” Shawn sounded more shaky and weak than he looked.

“Stiles’ husband, Jordan,” JT confirmed. “He’s a sheriff’s deputy. My wife is a judge in the omega court system. I’m _not_ with the bad guys.”

_Stiles’s husband._

JT spoke quiet reassurances at Shawn as Stiles fought with the lock and tuned them out. He had to focus. They had to get out. He didn't know how yet, but there was no waiting around for the Cavalry now. When Stiles was free, he tucked the lock pick set back in the canvas scraps and then in his shoe for safe keeping. Then he jumped up to check on his friend.

“Stiles! Get back in there!” JT hissed at him. “They can't see you out. We need to wait until-”

“In a minute!” Stiles caught Shawn’s hand to get his friend’s blurry attention. He even stroked at the back of Shawn’s head in the omega calming technique that he hated so much; he wouldn't hate it if it didn't work so well. And with JT locked in handcuffs, he couldn't help with the annoying tactile quirks of omeganess as much as Shawn needed. His friend looked up at him like he was seeing a ghost.

“Hey, man... it’s gonna be okay. Alright? Hang in there. Don't give up yet,” said Stiles. Shawn let out something that started out a laugh and ended up a shout as a jolt of electric pain seized him from the gut up. His hand clenched around Stiles’ and was amazingly strong. JT muttered something about needing to check on the baby but they had nothing around to pull off that miracle. Stiles watched as JT carefully set his hands on Shawn to hunt up whatever he could of the baby inside. He got kicked by the little girl’s highly reactive early soccer skills and smiled, accepting that as a positive sign.

“See? The baby’s good, you’re good, it’ll be okay,” said Stiles. Shawn looked at him like he had a hard time believing it but he was worried more about breathing through pain than arguing. Stiles shook his hand to keep his attention.

“Trust me, man. I've been through worse. There’s a reason coach kept me on the team as a good luck charm.”

Shawn did manage to laugh at that. He nodded. “Okay. I can do this.”

 

***

 

They found Carrington in the office, slumped over his desk with his computer up. It was no effort at all to sneak up on him. Jordan caught sight of the laptop screen before Kyle woke up to slap it shut. The spoiled rich boy had fallen asleep monitoring public reception on the omega issue. He had an image to maintain, after all, and the scandal in Beacon Hills hadn’t exactly done him any favors.

“What are you-”

“The sheriff found Stiles,” said Jordan. He nodded at the laptop. “And we thought we’d give you a chance to save the day. Rake in all the good press.”

“That's a kind offer. Completely suspicious to the point of _bullshit_ , but a kind offer,” replied Kyle.

“No bullshit. We’re not waiting for the locals to pull together a team. It's just gonna be us going in. And you, and your bodyguard with the _gun_ ,” said Jordan. He tapped on the closed laptop. “And whatever kind of cameras you can scrounge up to record the whole thing. Leak it to the press. Put the faces of the bad guys out there for everyone to see, just in case the courts let them loose again.”

The scowl on Derek’s face said he didn't like the idea, but he backed Jordan’s play. “Then you get another week of free national news coverage. Go down in history as some kind of omega savior.”

“It wipes out the small-town scandal from when you went after Stiles,” said Jordan. He spoke carefully, watching as the tired Carrington processed the offer. “Nobody would believe you actually bought an omega if you’re on the nightly news for helping to break up a broker ring.”

“And all that _free advertising_ ,” said Derek. “The company stocks are going to get that good karma boost...”

It was too good an offer to pass up, but it wasn't a safe bet, either. Not when it was coming from Stiles’ husband and the deputy of Stiles’ father. Kyle hadn't worked his way into the sheriff’s good graces enough.

“What’s the catch?” Kyle asked.

“When we get him back, you drop your claim on Stiles,” said Derek. It wasn't the card Jordan was planning to play, but he didn't argue it. It was a great trade off as far as he was concerned. Kyle laughed, not at all amused, and actually tried to stare down a werewolf. Derek smiled back at him and showed great restraint at keeping the claws tucked in.

“That’s not a fair trade,” said Kyle when the glaring match didn't work to get him his way.

“He’s a _human_ , not a stock up for exchange,” returned Derek.

“You’ve got about three minutes before we walk out the door,” said Jordan, drawing Carrington’s attention back. “If you aren't with us, as far as we know, you’re against us. And you can bet that's how it gets reported to the court in Beacon Hills when Stiles’ lawyer talks to the judge.”

For almost a minute, a red-faced, angry Kyle stared at his desktop and considered the corner he was in. In all fairness, he didn't have a lot of choices as it was presented to him. But neither did Stiles, thanks to him, so Jordan didn't feel at all bad about it.

“Fine,” he said finally. “But I control the press.”

“Just keep in mind you’ll be _under oath_ in front of a judge when this is all over,” said Jordan. Kyle nodded, dismissing it with a wave of his hand.

“I'm done with his shit after this. He brought in too much drama. I don't want him,” said Kyle. Jordan didn't notice he reacted until Derek caught his arm to keep him from going after Kyle.

“Good,” Derek said. “Go get your cameras and the guy with the guns.”

***


	22. Chapter 22

Shawn wasn't getting any better. He was in constant, all over, aching pain and had the shakes - which Stiles blamed on withdrawals because he was a big expert on those now - and the sharper, stabbing pain from the baby that just didn't take any sympathy. One of the good kicks from Shawn’s unborn baby girl sent him up off the pillows so forcefully, so surprisingly, it had to have nearly broken his back.

Stiles had to watch from the metal box on the floor as JT tried to tend to him. He didn't lock himself in though, the lock hung open on the latch. He stayed hidden just for show in case someone walked in, but the blanket was up over the top edge so Stiles could actually see. He still held out hope there was a plan. He still watched JT for a sign. Meanwhile, JT watched Shawn to make sure he didn't break anything trying to be quiet and still.

The other omegas didn't like having Shawn in there. Someone broke down crying and it wasn't Shawn, surprisingly. It wasn't like Stiles didn't completely understand their terror, but he had to admit it didn't help at all to hear the random sniffling.

Another shock kicked Shawn so hard he couldn't breathe and JT swore out loud. Again. For the _millionth_ time. Then he went to pound on the door for attention.

It took a minute or so but a somewhat familiar man wearing a shoulder holster shoved the door open. JT stumbled back, yet not thrown off enough to fall and make things somehow worse.

“What?” the man asked, annoyed.

There was another scream. JT pointed the man’s attention to Shawn as explanation for the disturbance. It didn't seem to crack through the hunter’s thick skull that the omega needed help.

“He needs a hospital!” Stiles shouted at the man.

JT moved to kneel beside Shawn’s stacked up mattresses to check on the human-shaped lump of blankets there.

“Where is he at?” the stranger in the doorway demanded of Jordan’s dad. JT shook his head.

“He’s in _pain_ -”

The stranger again ignored the unasked for opinion. “Do you know what stage he's at, yes or _no_?”

JT somehow went blank faced, not emotionless but not as angry as Stiles thought he should have been with the man. “He seems to be still a four.”

“That doesn't matter! He needs a hospital!” Stiles didn't care that he risked getting in trouble, calling attention to his unlocked cage. His friend needed actual help.

“Someone will see to him when he's at two,” said the stranger, and that was the end of it. He pulled back the door so fast that the room echoed when it slammed.

“Hey!” Stiles shouted after him.

“Quiet, Stiles,” JT told him. He was forcing calm since he was beside Shawn again. “I’ll try to get them back in a little while.”

“But he needs a hospital...”

“Hopefully not for awhile yet,” JT replied. He looked nervous, worried, and glanced over at the window in the room. It was a normal window, off above Stiles’ box, but Stiles didn't know if it was big enough for them to get Shawn out through. Or if it was even locked.

That was a mystery that needed solved. Stiles let himself out of the box again to check the window. A check of the tracks and the window frame showed no sign of alarm system monitoring. He very carefully, very quietly, eased the window open. Then he looked back at JT.

JT nodded at the progress. “Can you get the screen off?”

When Stiles tried, it didn't want to give. But even if they had glued the cheap aluminum screens in place, there were options. Stiles climbed up on one of the cages so he could sit in the windowsill. Then he used the strongest of the lock picks to start shredding the edge of the screen. When he was done, the screen was out of their way and had the added bonus of looking like the screen was still intact.

When he turned around to show JT his handiwork, he found the man moving toward him. He did a visual check of the area outside, seeing the same open, grassy hillside that Stiles looked at. There wasn't much to hide behind once they got out there, just tall coastal grasses and a few trees. About a mile off they could see the rise of the ocean down the hill. JT pointed it out, his hands still locked together with cuffs.

“About there somewhere is the highway. There's a coffee shop, a couple gift shops and a kayak dock. Should be safe,” he said. He looked to Stiles then. “Get out. Call your dad. Hopefully he’s around here somewhere.”

“What?” Stiles’ brain stalled out. JT nodded, a slight grin on his face.

“There was a plan, believe it or not. Sort of. Enough of one, anyway. Now go!”

Stiles wanted to argue, but he glanced at Shawn. His friend didn't have time to argue. So he crept carefully out the window and ran for cover.

The first place to hide was a pile of old yard junk, tires and blown debris and dead trees. Out of breath from the short sprint, Stiles crept around the edge to look back at the house. It was a few acres of property, with fenced areas for horses or something, and a couple of barns, and a wide open area that the gravel road driveway dumped into. There were six vehicles in the lot, which probably meant there were at least six hunters inside. Stiles suddenly couldn't remember how many hunters had cornered them in the city, which wasn't fair at all. Stress was kicking in, his brain was scrambling.

The important thing was that no one was out looking for him. He hadn't been noticed. They could maybe possibly actually pull it off.

Stiles turned back toward the ocean and tried to pick out the safest way to move to stay out of sight of the house.

 

***

 

The hunters had taken Stiles’ jacket - _not_ his fault, he wasn't going to pay for it if Kyle pitched a fit - and it was windy and cold on the coast. It would have been impossible for Stiles to hide the fact that he was an omega even if he wanted to, with the bright pink face and neck it caused. He arrived at the small cove off the highway out of breath and sweating and chattering from cold and adrenaline. He found a coffee shop as promised and submitted himself to the absolute torture of walking inside without money to buy a warm drink.

“Can I use your phone?” he asked the barista behind the register. “It's an emergency. Like, a real one.”

The woman looked him over, deemed the claim authentic enough, and handed him the cordless phone off the wall. The door chimed and the woman left him alone as she moved to welcome a new customer. Stiles kept his back to the door and started to dial his dad’s cell number.

“And there he is! The man of the hour!” came a familiar and unwanted voice. Peter Hale. Of course it would be the crazy wolf stalker who found him first. Stiles kept the phone but looked over at Peter.

“Where’s my dad?” he asked, not about to be distracted from his goal. “JT said there was a plan. If you’re not part of it, get lost.”

“That’s rude,” said Peter, looking mildly offended.

“Where’s JT’s ring?” Stiles returned. Peter smiled, not incredibly amused.

“I'm holding it for safe keeping, Stiles,” said Peter. “And your father is just outside, in the truck. It's a county vehicle, I don't know how you didn't notice-”

By then Stiles had put the phone down and rushed for the door. It opened just before he got to it, his dad right there on the other side of it. Stiles pounced on him without the slightest warning, hugged his neck like he needed the help standing upright. His dad hung on to him and just barely moved them out of the way of the cafe’s front door traffic.

“I just got off the phone with Jordan,” his dad said. “They’re on their way. Should be here soon-”

“Which leaves JT and your young friend still unaccounted for,” Peter chimed in. “Maybe we should do something about that?”

“When Jordan and Derek get here,” said the sheriff. And that was the deciding word on that. Peter sighed but left them alone after that, went to get himself a coffee. Stiles just stood there, trying to sort out if he was happy or terrified or confused because each one meant an entirely different batch of words to make his mouth enunciate, and he was kind of having a hard enough time just breathing.

“People suck,” he finally managed. His dad nodded and tucked Stiles closer with a hand to the back of his dirty hair. Not to pet him, not some alpha trick to calm the hysterical omega, but a father offering his son a safe place to hide. He didn't move again until Stiles calmed down, the shaking stopped and the chills lifted.

“You okay?” his dad finally asked when Stiles pulled away to wipe at his face. “All in one piece?”

Stiles nodded. “Shawn needs a hospital. The baby’s gonna kill him.”

“Damnit,” said his dad. He looked out at the road but there was no one there. Jordan was on his way and not already arrived, which meant no back up to swoop in and save Shawn. His attention returned to Stiles. “For now, have you eaten? We can feed you now. No guarantees we’ll have time when Jordan gets here.”

Without a second's hesitation about it, Stiles voted for food. And coffee. But definitely food.

 

***

 

They took Kyle’s SUV because the thing was a tank compared to Jordan’s truck, and there was no sense in wasting time taking separate vehicles. Jordan insisted on driving, however, which ruffled the bodyguard’s feathers a bit. Just to rub it in, Derek took shotgun before either of the other two had quit bitching about the bossy deputy. But there was a reason Jordan wanted to drive. He had trimmed time off of the drive from Beacon Hills. What was stopping him from shaving time off the drive to help Stiles now? All he had to do was try.

Early morning Monday traffic in the Bay Area, they needed every miracle they could get.

It wasn't an easy task but Jordan tried to focus on where he needed to be, on when he needed to be there, on the roads he knew, and the goal at the end. The car was a tool, he knew how to use it, so it wasn't a priority. His family waited on the other end of the road, and that was Jordan’s priority.

And somehow it worked. He felt the warmth in his arms and tried to shake it off without losing focus. Black birds - ravens, crows, starlings, he wasn't sure- crowded the car and nobody said anything. Aside from maybe Carrington telling him to slow down.

Once again, with no rational explanation, Jordan found his way to his destination in record time. The only answer Jordan had as to how was that they’d taken a short cut. As a crow flies, rather than following a map. He didn't care if it confused Kyle. And apparently neither did Derek, because when their passengers started getting belligerent as to how the _hell_ Jordan had shaved nearly an hour off the drive, Derek turned around and stared at them, blue eyes flashing bright in that _one_ werewolf thing he did that didn't involve lethal weapons.

Jordan left them to sort it out in the SUV as he went to check out the Beacon County Sheriff’s truck one parking space over from where he had parked. They were in front of a cafe of some sort. The sheriff and coffee made sense at that point, so Jordan walked inside to look around. Derek, Kyle, and the hired thug Kyle kept for a bodyguard followed after him.

“Jor-JORDAN!” It wasn't exactly yelled but it was overly loud in the small space of the cafe. There was the additional noise of scraping chairs across tile. It caught Jordan’s attention pretty effectively. He looked to the source in time to recognize the scruffy and dirty and sweaty Stiles just before he was attacked by him. It was half a load off Jordan’s shoulders even as Stiles caught him in a fierce hug. He returned it as much as he dared, worried about injuries, old or new, he couldn't know.

Right there, in front of Jordan’s boss, and in front of Kyle Carrington, Stiles burrowed his way into Jordan’s jacket like he was cold. An equally as sincere kiss silenced Jordan’s efforts at asking stupid questions, like if Stiles was okay, if he was hurt, where was JT... Jordan tasted maple syrup and pancakes, so he figured he had his answers to at least some of them by just hanging on to Stiles and enjoying the fact that he was with him. They were so _very_ much on the same page.

“That’s highly inappropriate,” complained Carrington, somewhere far, far away from Jordan and Stiles just then. They took a moment to breathe and Stiles still leaned on him.

“Eat shit, Kyle.” Stiles’ words were muffled by Jordan’s neck, but Jordan doubted it was quiet enough to save Kyle’s fragile ego. The cautious move then would have been to disentangle and not provoke the rich jerk, but Stiles didn't take the hint. Jordan wrapped his arms around Stiles’ shoulders and looked over at his boss, resigned to Stiles doing as he pleased because it meant he still had a Stiles who could do that.

“Sheriff. What do we know?” Jordan asked. As if he didn't have the man’s son currently leeching warmth off the entire front of his body. Stiles’ dad looked from Jordan to the scowl-faced Carrington and back.

“Well. For starters, I think maybe you know more than me,” he said.

“We brought a camera crew,” Jordan offered, nodding toward Kyle and his man. “He’s gonna get the br-the, uh, brokers, on camera, then get it into the press. Because he's been on every news station between here and Denver since yesterday.”

“See, nothing says a man cares like profiting off an omega firesale. He’s done it twice now,” taunted Peter. “And this time there's _breeders_ involved so the pay rate goes way up. _Drama_.”

Kyle started to go after Peter, fists clenched, but the werewolf flashed blue eyes and waved him in for a hug. Kyle and his bodyguard both took a step back toward the door, suddenly no longer offended. Just very confused.

Stiles tensed and tried to push away, either because of Peter’s words or in defiance of them, but Jordan kept him wrangled in.

“Ignore him. I do,” he said. Stiles narrowed his eyes a little, one eyebrow arched. Jordan rolled his eyes. “Okay, I try to. I'm not always successful. But it's a goal.”

That met with the desired results and Stiles relaxed, was maybe even a little amused, but he still pulled away to go back to the table. There was a certain single mindedness to his actions, he very carefully did not look toward either Peter nor Carrington. Stiles snagged a napkin and spread it out flat, then grabbed the pen from his father’s front jacket pocket. Jordan stood aside, watched as Stiles sketched out a rough road and its nearby buildings.

“That’s where they are. There's at least six omegas still locked in. The place is open, not a lot of cover,” he said. “Once you’re there, they’re pretty much going to know it.”

“How’d you get out?” asked Jordan.

Stiles did look over at Peter then. “I picked the lock and climbed out the window. Shawn can't do that.”

“So we need to get the hunters away from wherever you were to keep the others safe,” said Stiles’ dad. Derek edged in around the table to see the map. He pointed at the small scribbled boxes randomly across the map.

“Are those supposed to be cars?” he asked. Stiles nodded, shrugged off the critique of his art skills. Jordan looked it over.

“So if we do it right, we have cover on approach,” he observed. “There’s plenty of cars all over there.”

The sheriff glanced around the cafe. He snagged the map off the table. “Come on. Let's take this outside. We’re running out the clock.”

 

***


	23. Chapter 23

Somehow the most surprising revelation of the day turned out to be that Derek Hale knew how to hotwire cars. And it was an honest joy to watch him squirm as he showed _Stiles_ how to hotwire a car, under the frowning supervision of his father and Jordan. Kyle looked somehow disgusted by it. The bar had been set rather low for the day when Stiles woke up in a dog cage, but _that_ was so far his favorite part of the whole shitty fiasco.

The plan, of course, was for Derek and Stiles to get the cars at the hunter's hideaway going and remove them from the lot. Block the road near the highway with them maybe, stall the hunters as best they could. The lack of easy access to a vehicle would definitely make it harder for the hunters to abscond with any more omegas as they ran away. It made sense.

But it wasn't enough. Stiles figured it would take too long. He didn't open his mouth to point that out to anyone, however; he considered himself lucky that he was being allowed to help with the rescue at all. So when his dad and the others were in position and ready, Stiles and Derek hiked up to the house. They kept hidden off the road. When they got to the cars parked furthest from the house to move them, rather than split up, Stiles caught Derek by the arm before he could leave.

“I have an idea,” he said. Derek wasn't surprised but he did look impatient.

“Okay... what is it?”

“Just... lemme go first. And then do what I do.”

Derek considered it, surveyed the house where he could so easily hear Shawn in pain inside. Then he nodded, acknowledged the change in plans with a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, and headed for the next car up.

It wasn't a fine-tuned performance, and it took Stiles a second to get his car going, but he had spent enough time under his jeep’s hood that he figured out his mistake in time to catch it. Derek’s truck charged up a heartbeat before Stiles’ tank of Bronco did. He kind of liked the old Bronco and felt a little bad for tearing it up. But then he was behind the wheel and moving. Except he didn't aim for the road. Stiles revved the engine up to make noise and sent dirt and gravel flying.

He steered the big metal monster into the parked car closest to the front door of the house. He rammed it away as carefully as he could, because he didn't want to hurt himself or make the Bronco give up the fight just yet, and settled for clearing a path to the door.

When Derek caught on, he didn't seem quite as particular. He shoved a BMW out into the open and used the truck to do damage. The third car to be targeted got shoved into an open field, through an old wind-torn fence, and Stiles happily chased after Derek to join in. There were six cars total, so Stiles figured they had made their point by demolishing everything except the old Geo Metro parked in front of the barn. There was no helping the triumphant shout as he ripped the front fender off the Chevy Suburban he and Derek shoved around the field.

The first gunshot report broke through the fun, however, and Stiles shut off the Bronco and hit the deck. He hid behind the cover of the big engine, only peeking out to see where Derek was.

Okay, so maybe there was a flaw in his plan. But if the goal was to make a scene to provide a distraction, it had been completely and perfectly effective.

 

***

 

It seemed almost like the natural order of things when the sound of the car crash registered. Jordan sat behind the wheel of Kyle’s SUV, engine idling beside the sheriff’s vehicle. He had Kyle and his cameraman, the sheriff had Peter in the passenger seat, and they all had absolutely no idea what was going on. The sheriff floored it up toward the house then and Jordan kept up alongside, the both of them blocking the road between grassy hills.

They had six suspects out in the big open driveway of the house, so the change in plans had still done the trick. The more surprising thing was seeing the big black wolf guarding a beat-up Bronco out in the field across from the house.

“Ready to go, gentlemen?” Jordan asked, not really caring to hear the answer. He cut the engine and got out of the car, gun drawn. The sheriff could be heard ordering Peter to make sure nobody touched his truck so they were guaranteed their own free route home. Peter could be heard just as clearly telling him to fuck off as he slammed the door to follow after. Ahead of them, someone shot at the Bronco and stole Jordan's attention. He and the sheriff split up, taking cover behind the beat-up remains of a not-so-old BMW that would never again see the open road.

“Hey!”

The hunters turned at the distraction. Jordan had to blink to focus because he swore a couple of the hunters had liquefied to smoke on their approach; he saw the vague outline of the human forms buried somewhere behind swirls of gray fog with color splotches. Jordan knew he was tired but this was something different, a carryover from the stress headaches the day before or something else more ominous on the weird spectrum. He saw multiple blobs that looked like faces in the fog surrounding just one hunter. In an early morning foggy coastal climate, with visibility cut low from natural weather phenomena, it was especially disorienting. Still, Jordan focused, tried to see past it, kept his weapon trained on the men he could be certain actually existed. Calm. He needed to stay on top of it.

“What the hell did you do?” demanded one of them. He started toward Jordan, looking murderous.

“Didn't do a thing. But you guys have done a few things. We’re going to have to take you in for them,” Jordan returned. That pissed the man off and a gun showed up in his hand.

“Beacon County Sheriffs department!” his boss called out beside him. “Drop the weapon!”

It caused a pause as the group recalibrated their plans. There was a sudden shout as Derek the wolf took down one of the men closest to the Bronco. He stood over the man in the grass, wolfy-sharp teeth in his steel-trap jaws just barely touching the man’s neck. Jordan could hear him growling as the hunter babbled for somebody to help.

That's when Kyle showed up, buried in a thick jacket with a hood and a baseball hat to shade his eyes, like he didn't want to be recognized. He had his cellphone camera out. His bodyguard had an actual camera out, and they edged carefully closer to the group. Like they were going for a better shot.

Peter looked a bit put-out as he moved with them as some kind of self-appointed watchdog. Part of Jordan actually hoped the men got shot. He didn't move, though, and worried about backing up his boss. Whatever weird gray-black fog had adopted the hunters spread to Peter as he moved out into the group, and the added splotches of color became recognizable faces, sometime kicks of fire. Jordan had to fight distraction as scenes played out on the smoke as though someone had aimed a movie projector at Peter. Jordan shook his head and blinked to clear it. He could go crazy later; now was not a good time.

“What the hell is this?” demanded a woman’s voice. The one with the accent who Jordan had seen buy his father. Anger made it very hard not to pull the trigger as Jordan adjusted his aim.

“We’re _live_ with KNBH out of San Francisco! I have a few questions for you...” Peter suddenly called out. Jordan rolled his eyes. “Starting with, you know, are you _really_ going to shoot at law enforcement on live TV? What have you done that makes it a worthwhile risk? Anything you have to say?”

The hunters looked around and finally the woman who apparently ran the show seemed to give up. She pulled back her coat and brought back out two handguns, holding them up by the muzzles. The four others in the field grudgingly did the same.

The Bronco door swung open then. Stiles jumped out and scampered over to Derek. As Jordan and the sheriff were moving out from behind their concealment, Stiles had already disarmed the man that Derek pinned down in the grass.

“And with that,” came Peter’s voice again. “Back to you in the studio, Gale.”

There was something surreal to it, but Jordan rolled with it. The sheriff grumbled about his crazy idiot of a son but there was a hint of a grin on his face.

They patiently, thoroughly, by the book, searched and restrained each of the hunters. Jordan recognized two of them from the last arrests he had made in defense of his favorite Omega. He wasn't exactly nice as he cinched the plastic zip ties around the man’s wrists. One by one, with Derek’s growling help, the hunters were escorted to the porch of the ranch house across the gravel driveway.

Cameras were shoved in their faces. As arranged, Kyle took still-shot photos. The omega brokers were fully documented. Then Stiles impatiently dragged the cameras into the house. Jordan left Peter and Derek with the sheriff and followed in after them. He remembered his vision and snagged the keys from the burly hunter he had seen in charge of monitoring Shawn.

The room Stiles led them to was exactly as it had been in Jordan’s vision. The omegas were noisy and scared inside the cages along the walls, and Carrington’s bodyguard sweeping a camera along the doors to stare at them was no help at all. Jordan’s dad sat beside Shawn near the door, exactly where Jordan had seen them before. He was handcuffed, so Jordan let him out, and then Stiles stole the keys and started getting the other omegas out. They filed past and out into the hall, four different people of varying ages, each of them dirty and battered and single-mindedly intent on finding the bathroom.

“Okay. Fine. Good. Hospital. Hospital. Hospital,” Stiles started rambling as he gave the keys back to Jordan.

“The EMTs are on their way with the Sonoma County-”

“No. Shawn needs the hospital. Now,” Stiles insisted. He held a hand up to Jordan. “Car keys. Please. Now. We go.”

Backing up Stiles’ demand, JT was already helping Shawn up off the mattress. It shocked Jordan a little and he numbly handed the keys to Stiles.

“Hey! That’s _my_ car!” Kyle protested. Stiles shoved the keys in the man’s hand and then bodily pushed him out the door.

“Then _you_ get him to the hospital!”

Jordan wasn't quite able to argue the logic. His attention was still on the place where Shawn had been a moment earlier. There were two mattresses stacked on top of each other. That wasn't right.

When he had seen the room before, when the ravens had shown him where his dad would end up, there were two mattresses, but Shawn had only used the one. Something had changed. The relief Jordan felt at how smoothly everything had lined up with his visions up to that point had distractedly disappeared.

JT drew him back to the present with a hand on his arm. “Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost, son.”

The thought struck that he should have been checking on his dad, not the other way around, and he shook it off. Smiled and tried to get back to the present.

“Yeah. We just have to babysit a bunch of asshole hunters for the next hour until the locals get here. I'm thinking about how we should have planned this whole thing a _little_ better,” he said. JT shrugged it off.

“You can't plan for everything,” he said. He held up the hunters’ key set and looked over at the now empty cages. “I know where you can put the hunters until the reinforcements arrive, though.”

***


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important Note:  
> This chapter deals pretty unignorably with mpreg and potentially maybe graphically with a medical procedure related to pregnancy. This story is set in an omega-verse where mpreg is part of the world and attached to the story because there is an omega male at the center of it. It's meant to show/explain an angle of the world, even though the main character doesn't experience it himself.  
> If that's not your thing, you can skip this chapter without missing a whole helluva lot and continue reading from chapter 25.
> 
> **************************************************************

The hospital was slightly terrifying. Stiles had been to the hospital plenty of times in the last few years, both for emergencies and for other, less imperative business. Hospitals in general didn't bug him. It was just this one, Southern San Francisco Memorial, that tripped him out, because he was on somebody else's territory. And because his friend was in a whole lot of pain and the hospital hadn't made it magically go away yet.

They sat in the waiting area, Shawn sagged in a chair and hanging on to Stiles' hand like he was going to break bones. Stiles had offered him that little bit of help back in the car and Shawn had latched on like a vice, hadn't let go and showed no signs of doing so. It made things a little easier though so Stiles didn't complain. He wasn't the one with a bowling ball sitting inside of him and squishing all of his organs; he could handle a sore hand. Shawn had all the faith that things would be fine, but he hurt while the busy hospital prepared a space for him in the omega wing.

Things only got weirder when the nurses discovered that Kyle wasn't the father and made him stay behind. They didn't question Stiles because Shawn refused to let go of him. They just put Shawn in a wheelchair and whisked him away, with Stiles expected to keep up if he wanted to keep the limb.

When the nurses did finally start prepping Shawn for the emergency surgery required to save the lives of the omega and his baby, Shawn let him go but asked him to stay. The fear was showing through the pain and Stiles was too amped up on adrenaline by then to think he needed to run the other way from a surgery and needles. His friend needed help and he wasn't leaving him alone when they were three hours from home and anything or anyone familiar. The nurses shoved him in scrubs and put his hand back in Shawn's before the gurney was pushed into the operating room.

Wide eyed and on alert, Stiles took in everything about the experience in surgery. His hand was numb to the pain by then and he leaned against the top edge of the gurney by Shawn's head, saying words of random reassurance that he wasn't certain made sense. He was too busy making sure every doctor and nurse in the room was doing their job exactly right. He didn't know what their jobs were to know if they were on track or not but he was watching them anyway. The determination that his friend be cared for made him at least temporarily immune to his fear of needles. Needles and IVs and blood bags and sharp knives were used in plain view and Stiles was glad for it.

When clamps got involved, he ducked his head back behind the curtain and checked on Shawn because he didn't want to see the blood from his friend's insides. Shawn's eyes were closed and his pained expression had vanished, which panicked Stiles for a second until he realized the double beeping of the machine nearby was proof of his friend's heartbeat. The drugs had finally kicked in and Shawn was asleep. It let Stiles breathe a little easier; he didn't figure anybody should be awake when their intestines were actually sitting on a tray beside their bed.

He still didn't have possession of his own hand though; even asleep, Shawn was stronger than Stiles had ever given him credit for.

Eventually he heard the startling sound of a tiny baby shocked by the cold of the surgery room. The meek wail was a drastic change from the sound of the machines and the chink! of metal instruments on trays. He risked looking up to peek over the curtain to see. From across the room, she was a little blob of red mess being wiped at with a towel. Stiles decided then he wasn't going to look over the curtain again.

It was another few minutes before they brought over a cleaned up version, swaddled tight in a thin blanket. Shawn was still asleep so the nurse tugged Stiles’ hand free from his, then Stiles found himself holding a squinty, round-faced, dark haired little girl.

She was pink and quiet, but fussy. And she weighed nothing at all. A month looking after babies as an omega at school had not prepared him for the overwhelming fear that he might break the tiny baby in the operating room. She wiggled and he panicked that the blanket would come loose and she could fall. So he held her close and watched her carefully. As he calmed, she calmed. Stiles poked at her chubby cheek to get her to look at him and she did; her eyes fluttered open for a tiny second, surprising him when she stared at him with the brown-amber eyes he had seen before when working with Jordan.

That wasn't an omega-offspring thing, was it? Was that why people would steal omegas, place such a value on them? They were all born with the spark that made werewolves and banshees and... whatever Jordan was. A raven, probably, but Stiles hadn't gotten a chance in the last few weeks to dig up anything on the Raven lore. And now he wished he’d made the time, because Shawn’s baby girl just stared at him with Raven eyes.

The nurse showed up again too soon, Shawn was still asleep and Stiles didn't want to let go of the baby. The woman happily made him put the baby down in the bassinet and wheeled her away. Stiles saw a bit of paper in the basket as he put her down. A blank certificate of live birth, with the baby’s tiny footprints on it, along with lines for names and signatures. Stiles didn't know what Shawn and Chloe were going to name the baby so he couldn't help with that. It would have to wait until Shawn was awake.

***


	25. Chapter 25

The day just got longer. Jordan relied on his boss a lot, too tired to fully trust himself not to just burn the house down. It wouldn't solve the omegas’ problems. He couldn't fix it for them, no matter how badly he wanted to. Even Carrington’s bodyguard had a hard time at the scene. They had to rely on JT to help keep the omegas from running away as they waited for the local law enforcement. Two of them made phone calls, one curled up in a corner and refused to talk, and the last one tried to steal Rico’s gun. The young omega wanted to blow his brains out rather than go home because of the hunters who had kept him trapped. It wasn't fair.

It was a stolen house, really. The owners lived in Alaska. Over the phone, the realtor said she never checked on the place because it was too far out of the city. Jordan and the sheriff had cleared every room to be sure there were no other surprises. There was no power, no phones, just portable lawn furniture, dog crates, and mattresses. They found halogen camp lanterns for lighting at night. One of the rooms had a chunk of wood over it, like it had been used to block off a door that couldn't otherwise be locked. They found dry foods and trash bags and weapons and handcuffs. It was a terrifying place.

And Jordan had sent his dad to stay there. _On purpose_. Knowing nothing other than there was danger. He was going on little more than an hour’s sleep as it was, so everything about the house was a hard punch in the gut for him, stirring up anger and guilt and fear. He was glad they had been able to isolate the hunters in the dog cages because he very easily could have lost his cool and killed someone if they had acted up. Even Peter seemed to see it. He checked in with Jordan once and then arranged himself to take watch over the hunters, kept him out, and steered him repeatedly toward Derek.

His friend was an important, helpful presence, but Jordan really needed to round up his dad and track down Stiles and reassure himself that they were okay. Work came first, though. His dad sat with the rescued omegas on the porch, and his boss walked around taking pictures of evidence with the cameras Kyle had brought. Thankfully, omega court was a little more forgiving with evidence, it moved faster, and anything they could present the courts with over the next 48 hours would be used against the hunters. Kyle’s cameras were vital. The notion that the man had actually been helpful really burned after the hell he had put Stiles through; no court would believe Stiles now.

Derek disappeared outside for a little while with an oil rag from the sheriff’s truck. When he showed up again, he wouldn't tell Jordan what he had been up to. He had come from the general direction of the ruined cars out in the field, however. Jordan was still a cop, and he probably could have guessed what Derek was doing to the cars he and Stiles had borrowed, but he figured if he didn't know then he wouldn't feel ethically obligated to file charges against his cousin. Otherwise, Derek helped Jordan check the property for further dangers as they waited for the locals to show up and take over.

The barn was an old, weather-beaten building. It had a cement floor, solid foundations, and creaked in the wind. Jordan smelled animals, cats and left-over moody hay from horses mostly. Derek smelled blood. There was a drain in the center of the floor and trace signs of rust-colored residue that might have been the source, like whatever mess had been there had been washed away. After looking around more, though, they found blankets soaked with blood in one of the horse stalls.

“What the hell is this?” he wondered. Derek looked pissed off.

“They’re breeders, Jordan. What do you think?” he said, quiet banking his anger. “One of the stolen omegas had a baby. Out _here_.”

Jordan seemed to lock up then, another layer of his naivete about his father and Stiles’ world peeled back. He tried to shake it off and get back to his senses, tried to paint it over with the professional callousness from having been to dozens of abuse cases with omegas over the years. He knew they weren't always treated well, he had personally seen the disrespect. But _this_...

“Did they survive it?” he asked. He pointed to the blankets. “That's a lot of blood.”

“If they didn't, there's no body stash in here,” said Derek. Jordan nodded; the stench from that would leave a mark and even he would have been able to tell.

“We need to check the grounds,” he realized. Derek nodded, grim.

“The realtor’s sign said it's a ten acre property,” he said. “I vote the local guys do it.”

Jordan saw the logic but it didn't settle his mind. All the same, he followed Derek out of the stall. The caw of a crow caught his attention at the door and Jordan looked back to see a big black bird prod at the bloody blanket.

“Oh _shit_.”

And then the world blurred and darkened. Jordan looked around and he saw the sunlit hallway of his own apartment. He stood in front of the doorway to his room, not a horse stall. His room was dark, curtains drawn against the sunrise, but he could see easily inside. His room was clean, bare, smelled like cigarettes even though he didn't smoke, alcohol even though he didn't drink much. Cardboard moving boxes filled the open closet.

In all his old recurring dreams of burning down his own house, he had never started in his bedroom. This was different. He looked back down the hall, saw the couch, saw the open curtains, saw the desk cluttered with projects. His hands weren't glowing, nothing was burning. Confused, he tried to make his arms glow, just so something matched the dreams he was used to, but nothing happened. Jordan stepped through the door, confused.

Then he saw a shadow on the bed. Someone sat on the edge facing the window across the room. All he could see for certain was dark, messy hair, someone’s bare back, arms at their sides with a shirt wrapped around them like the person had gotten distracted while getting dressed. Jordan moved into the room to get a better look.

“Stiles?” he asked, just a hope, a guess that maybe could be willed to be true if he said it out loud. As he got around the end of the bed, into the dim fall of light through the blinds, the man looked up. He looked right at Jordan, surprised like he had been caught. The heavy thoughtfulness turned to a contented grin. The young man shrugged the rest of the way into his shirt and stood up.

“Nope,” he said. “It’s still me. Just Ryan. That’s a weird name, though. You've said it twice today.”

The dark-haired, green-eyed young man smiled as he stepped by Jordan, patted him on the stomach. He wasn't used to visions interacting with him, and that one... Jordan reeled like he had been punched.

He landed in musty straw against the stall wall. Derek knelt beside him, waiting it out.

“You okay?” he asked. Jordan shook his head as he processed it, struggled to get to his feet. Derek helped. Jordan made it outside the barn just in time to lose what little he’d had for breakfast. Derek followed him out, concerned.

“What the hell did you see?” he asked as Jordan caught his breath. It took him a minute before Jordan could find his voice.

“Shawn,” he said finally. Derek frowned at him.

“Well that doesn't make sense. Shawn wasn't hurt. This isn't from him,” said Derek. Jordan couldn't understand it either.

“It wasn't normal,” said Jordan. “He... I mean, usually I can't interact. People don't know I'm there. _He_ talked to me. That's not... I don't know what that was...”

“So, what do you want to do about it?” asked Derek. “Maybe it’s nothing. It could be nothing.”

Jordan thought back over the vision. “He said his name was Ryan. Maybe it wasn't him. Shawn’s an omega though. Maybe he was just... a placeholder or something?”

His cousin shrugged, unsure how to help him sort it out. “What did you see? What was going on?”

Jordan shook his head. “I think we need to start checking the property. You and I will find something before the others could.”

“They’ll have maps of the property,” Derek pointed out. “ _We_ will be trespassing.”

“I don't know... it's just... the only thing that makes sense,” said Jordan. He felt angry and confused; he had been so sure he had a handle on the visions until then. Now he had nothing to go on and didn't know how to proceed. The visions had to mean something, but he couldn't figure that one out to save his life, or anyone else's. Derek caught his shoulder, probably to steady him.

“Okay... we’ll go look. Later. When the locals get here. You should go sit down for awhile in the meantime,” he said. Jordan started to protest and Derek just applied more pressure. “You rest, or I tell your dad to make you rest.”

“Which one?” Jordan didn't realize he'd asked it until it was out. Derek shrugged.

“Whichever one will knock you out if necessary so I don't have to do it,” he said. It didn't make Jordan feel any better to realize that even the dad who raised him would probably take the opportunity to deck him across the face just then. He walked to the sheriff’s truck then without another word about it, still trying to sort out what had just happened. Derek saw him on his way before breaking off to go talk to JT. The one person Jordan really needed to talk to but couldn't bring himself to even look at just then.

Maybe he was just exhausted. It could have been some surreal dream.

Jordan was seated in the passenger side of the sheriff’s truck for less than two minutes before he blacked out. No dreams.

 

***

 

Stiles stayed with Shawn as they put his friend back together, but the second they relocated to a private room, Stiles curled up in the chair and passed out. He was exhausted. He had been running on adrenaline for 24 hours and the quiet hospital room got to him. Also he was hungry, but he had no wallet to prove who he was to be let back in the room, let alone buy food. So he slept it off.

The downside was that he was still hungry when he woke up. But he felt better for the nap anyway. The only thing on TV though was stupid Kyle’s face as he tried to rile up the masses in defense of his stolen omegas from the day before. Stiles was glad the man wasn't around to get punched in the face; all his troubles had started because of some asshole with a camera putting his face out there in public, and Kyle had just done it all over again. To him and Shawn both this time. Thankfully the story would be updated soon though, because Stiles had seen the camera at the hunters’ place, and that shit was going public or he was going postal.

When the nurse wheeled the baby in Stiles jumped out of his chair to go see her.

“Can I hold her?” he asked, not sure what the rules were. The nurse smiled and nodded before she checked on Shawn. Stiles tucked the baby girl up against him and went back to his spot. Now he understood why the Omega wing had rocking chairs. He watched as the nurse looked over Shawn’s numbers and checked all the vitals.

“He’s okay, right?” Stiles asked. She frowned a little but nodded.

“Some of his numbers are really high. His bloodwork is off. The doctor said we’re going to have to keep an eye on him for a few days to make sure he's healing okay,” she replied.

“He was in withdrawals I think,” Stiles offered up. “And we just got away from breeders this morning. So I mean, he's really stressed. She wasn't supposed to be here for another week. That could be it, right? That’ll go away...”

The nurse looked horrified. “You what?!”

Stiles pointed to the tv on mute across the room. The noon-hour news came back from a commercial with both his and Shawn’s school yearbook photos on the screen, under a big bold “ _MISSING_!” warning.

The nurse looked like she was ready to faint or riot, Stiles couldn't tell. “Wait right there,” she instructed. Stiles rolled his eyes and patted the baby’s back. He wasn't going anywhere.

When she came back, she had the doctor, and another nurse, and a social worker. The baby was taken from him and put back in the bassinet but neither of them were taken from the room. All the same, Stiles wished he hadn't said anything as he was checked over and admitted to the hospital the same as Shawn.

“I’m okay...”

“You’re covered in bruises and cuts and burn marks,” the doctor chided, not at all accepting that answer. “And we can't get a hold of your father.”

“He’s working still. They arrested like six people and he’s gotta sort it all out because he's from another county,” said Stiles.

“What about the man who brought you both in?” asked the doctor.

Given such a beautiful opportunity, Stiles wanted very badly to lie and get Kyle arrested.

“Kyle was helping my dad. I asked him to drive us to the hospital so Shawn didn't have to wait for the EMTs,” he said instead. “Shawn and I were staying with Kyle when the hu... _brokers_ got us. That's why he raised the noise with the news.”

The doctor didn't seem happy with it but he accepted it. “And why was Shawn with you? What is your relation to him?”

Stiles sensed dangerous waters and Shawn wasn't there to back him up. “We’re friends from school...”

“So the baby is Kyle’s?” the doctor asked. “We can let him back here if that’s the case...”

“No, Kyle doesn't want kids,” Stiles said quickly. And then, very glad he had saved up on the karma points by not lying earlier, he blurted out the biggest whopper of his life. “The baby’s mine. That’s why Shawn was with me this weekend.”

He didn't know exactly where that came from but it was enough to stop the interrogation from the doctor. It wasn't common but it wasn't unheard of for Omega to hook up. It was safer than random sex at a bar, but most Omega Track kids were too hung up on their puritanical image to risk messing around with classmates. Stiles definitely didn't have that problem. It was possible. It could happen. As long as Shawn didn't wake up and call him a liar.

“Him and his fiancé needed a donor and I’m his friend, so... we did the thing and it worked like a charm and boom, baby. And _Then_ the bitch dumps him like days before the wedding and everything all goes to hell-”

“Okay, I got it,” the doctor said, obviously disturbed by the language. But he didn't go near subjects that involved Kyle or kicking Stiles out of Shawn’s room again.

When he left, he handed Stiles a clipboard full of forms that would need filled out and signed by his father when he showed up, but until then Stiles and Shawn both were admitted and under the responsibility of the hospital. In other words, not permitted to leave without legal alpha authority. That was going to pose a problem for Shawn later given the report that his father had disowned him, but Stiles didn't mention that. He figured his mouth had gotten them in enough trouble for one day and more or less hid behind the baby. All six pounds, eight ounces of shield.

But the more he thought about it, the more he liked it.

The hospital staff started filtering in the room with flowers and balloons that afternoon. Stiles asked for help with the baby a few times but mostly had the time to himself to think about it all. He played with a tiny sleepy doll who didn't do much beyond stare at him, blink gray-green eyes as she looked at the room, and make tiny squawks when she was unhappy if she wasn't asleep. He read bizarre get-well cards from strangers and inspected baby clothes and baby toys from nameless donors, having no phone to call and ask his dad or anyone if they knew why Shawn’s baby was getting free stuff already.

At some point, after a nurse had shown up to show him how to change a diaper and feed the baby special formula since Shawn was still asleep, Stiles signed his name on the line. And for at least until Shawn woke up and sent him to jail for baby-theft, Stiles had a baby girl with dark hair like his and the amber spark in her eyes like Jordan. It was a nice daydream to make the past day and a half just go away.

 

***


	26. Chapter 26

Not long after Stiles stuck his name on the paper, Shawn woke up. He was breathing, he was using words, so it seemed like things were looking up. He said he liked the flowers crowding everything. Stiles hardly had a chance to do more than stand up to take the baby to him before the room was swamped with nurses and the doctor from his surgery, giving Shawn the same health check-slash-interrogation that Stiles had gotten.

Stiles kept the baby girl quiet tucked under his chin and lurked near the head of the bed so Shawn could see him despite the crowd. Shawn had the same clipboard of papers presented to him, complete with the baby’s birth certificate. And Shawn _did_ notice the signature already on it, right away. He looked at Stiles, surprised, but he didn't call him out in front of the doctor. He didn't look angry, and none of the monitors and machines he was hooked up to started beeping to alarm the people worried about his blood pressure. It was a good thing Stiles was so well practiced at looking innocent. Nobody looked twice at the Omega hiding behind the baby-shield.

Shawn was given a passing grade on the health report for post-op, but he wasn't cleared for doing much more than eating hospital-provided food and asking for a nurse’s assistance to do _anything_ else. Apparently having one's insides entirely taken out, rearranged, and then reassembled inside with a little room to spare was something that would require some actual recovery time. But other than that, he was okay.

Food was brought in for the both of them as the doctor left and Stiles found himself with a mild dilemma: eating would be a lot easier with the free use of both hands, but that meant putting down the baby.

“Here, do you want to hold her for a bit?” he asked Shawn. Shawn seemed surprised for a moment, then afraid, and he shook his head.

“Not right now,” he said. Stiles didn't understand but he didn't argue. He wheeled the bassinet over to the bedside before setting her inside. She was asleep and didn't seem to notice. Stiles was hungry enough that he only felt a little bad about abandoning her to the boring pink pad in the tiny wheeled crib. He settled back into his chair with the tray of nutritionally balanced mush and cardboard steak.

“Are you okay?” he asked, cautious, because he wasn't going to be the one to talk about the baby elephant in the room first.

“Yeah, they just said I’m gonna be okay,” Shawn replied. There wasn't a hint of sarcasm, either, just absolute, blind faith that the doctors were fortune tellers. Stiles nodded.

“I told you, man,” said Stiles. “You got this.”

“Maybe.” Shawn didn't sound completely enthusiastic about it. He still stared at the clipboard of papers, hadn't touched the food yet. He didn't look like he was hungry, more like he was stressed. Again. Already.

“Just don't worry about it, Shawn. Okay? Not right now. They said you can't leave for three days anyway-”

Shawn huffed and laughed. He waved the birth certificate. "What the hell, Stiles!"

“Okay, so, I panicked a little-”

“A little? You can't take this back. They won't just give her a new one,” said Shawn. Stiles shrugged it off, shoveled the mashed potatoes around.

“I know that. I didn't plan to. You’re my friend, you need help. And she's just a baby. I can help,” he said.

“How? You don't have a job, either. You've got all this stuff with the court and Kyle. You don't have anyone who can take care of her either,” said Shawn.

“I’ve got my dad. I've got Jordan. I mean, it's not perfect, but I know I can count on them,” said Stiles. He looked at his friend. “It’s just to help you get going, man. This is easy compared to what could have happened to you since I let you come down here. I dragged you into trouble, I owe you. Her, too. Plus, I mean, look at her... she's so tiny and perfect...”

Shawn was quiet after that, and he wouldn't look at the baby at all.

“It’ll be okay. You're safe, she’s safe, give things a couple weeks to settle down with Chloe-”

“They won't. She doesn't want the baby. Hell, Stiles, I didn't want the baby. I just did it because Chloe... I can't afford her,” said Shawn. “I can't keep her.”

It made no sense to Stiles. It wasn't that hard of a choice for him because he trusted his family and his friends to back him up; Shawn just didn't have that option. After the last few days, not to mention surgery and the baby, his friend was probably just freaked out. Stiles shook his head.

"Okay. So... Don't put your name down. I'll take care of her. You can see her when you want. It'll be me and her and my dad. She'll be fine. You'll be fine. I promise."

"Yeah, but what about Kyle?" asked Shawn. He looked confused.

Stiles laughed at that. "I don't give two shits what Kyle says."

It was like Shawn was looking for all the loopholes, all the reasons why it wouldn't work. "Okay but you got married... Deputy Parrish or whatever. Jordan."

The question made Stiles relax a little, because he knew where he stood with Jordan, too. "Neither one of them asked my permission before they went signing their name to my life. They can just deal with it that I've got a kid in my life now."

Okay, _that_ was a little weird to say out loud. Stiles looked over at the baby, momentarily baffled. In just a day, he had gone from not wanting kids, to risking his neck just to keep a baby. Shawn was understandably skeptic.

"Are you serious?"

Stiles was resolved, no matter how bad the idea it was, and he nodded. "As a heart attack. I signed my name. They can't take it back."

"Yeah, and neither can _you_." Shawn probably thought he had lost his mind. That just made Stiles more determined.

"I don't _want_ to,” he promised again. “I mean it, don't put your name down, then you can go back to Chloe and you can go back to school and get back to your life. It's a win-win all around."

"But what about the court? Kyle doesn't want kids."

Stiles nodded and chomped at his steak. "I _told_ you. Win-win all around."

“But what about _Jordan_?” asked Shawn. He was winding down, seemed to be relaxing. Stiles let his friend work it all out.

“Jordan and me are good. He’s got my back. I know that,” said Stiles. He smiled at the last of his late lunch. “I’ve still got his ring, too, you know? He meant it. It’s him and me.”

Shawn was quiet after that. He seemed to calm down. He shuffled papers and put them back on the clipboard without filling anything out. He seemed tired. Then he set them aside, next to his cold food. Stiles noticed.

“Shawn. Come on, man. Eat something. You gotta be hungry,” he said. Shawn waved it off.

“Later,” he said. He held out the birth certificate to Stiles. “Make sure Jordan signs that, too. Then you’ll be okay and the baby will have a home.”

“She’ll have a home no matter what,” Stiles promised. But he added the birth certificate to his stack of papers from the hospital. “But yeah. I’ll just tell him it's my birth certificate or something, he’ll stick his name on anything if it’s mine.”

It was a joke and amused Stiles. Shawn smiled but didn't seem to understand it.

“So what’s her name, anyway?” Stiles asked. His friend seemed to shrug it off.

“We could never agree on anything,” said Shawn. “You and Jordan should pick one.”

“Names are important,” said Stiles. “You don't just pick one. Then the kid ends up with a weird name nobody can pronounce and they find a nickname anyway. Like Stiles.”

Shawn did laugh a little at that. “Well, she needs a name.”

Fed and happy, Stiles stood as he nodded his agreement. “I’ll get on it.” Then he carefully scooped up the baby and carried her over to Shawn. Shawn hid behind a plate of cold food rather than take her, so Stiles curled her in his arms and settled into the rocking chair again.

“She’s going to wear you down eventually,” he warned Shawn. “She’s gonna be tricky like the raven. You can just see it in her eyes.”

 

***

 

Easily the last thing Jordan had wanted to experience that day was seeing Peter Hale schmooze up to his mom. Lilah Parrish had shown up not long after the first responders and Sonoma sheriff's department did. Her husband had called her for a ride home, but the sheriff's department had called her first because the situation with the omegas demanded prompt response from the omega court, and she was one of the lead judges. They didn't know at the time that her husband was one of the omega involved. That was enough to keep her from fully responding to the scene, but she took notes and planned to write up the witness statement on her husband’s behalf.

It was Peter who gave her the tour, despite Jordan’s best efforts at shooing him away. At least he didn't regale her with remembrances of their wild teenaged nights in San Francisco as he did it; Jordan kept mentally seeing snippets of the bar scene as he followed them around and it was giving him a migraine. He finally had to leave to the porch in an effort to make it stop.

“What’s going on with you?” Derek asked. “That's the second time you've nearly lost it...”

“I don't know. I keep... seeing things. It's different than just being there,” Jordan replied. “I mean, that's better than falling on my ass because I can't tell which way is up when reality goes sideways, but... man. There’s shit I _Don't_ want to know about.”

Derek nodded. “When do we get to leave?”

“When the locals take your statement,” Jordan said, distracted. His cousin grumbled about the vague answer. He looked up at Derek and saw something else around him on a fog: Derek in a tunnel, or a cave or something, with a blonde woman carrying a taser. Hunters again.

“Jesus,” he muttered, scrubbing at his face. Maybe he needed to make himself a tin foil hat or something. “Look, Derek, man... do you need to get out of here?”

Derek ruffled a little, shrugged and then shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Then get your head in the fuckin’ game, man. Nobody needs that.” Jordan probably wasn't fully thinking straight himself or he wouldn't have said it out loud, but in his defense, he wasn't getting to think for himself picking up on everything everyone else was carrying around. Derek looked at him funny for it. Jordan waved it off, spun a finger around beside his head to show he was not right.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, predictably. Jordan shook his head.

“You know that crazy theory about seeing auras around people?”

“Yes.”

“I think I am now. But instead of bands of colors around people, it's like... someone projected what they’re thinking about on them over a fog screen. Peter won't stop dogging my parents in a bar, and I can't even look at the omegas, man.”

Derek stared at him, alarmed but carefully pretending he wasn't. He didn't believe him. Jordan rolled his eyes.

“Okay. Fine. Who’s the blonde with the taser?” he asked, just to prove it. Derek straightened up, like somehow tensing every muscle in his body on high alert could block his brain. Jordan shook his head and looked away. “Told you.”

“So take a walk,” said Derek. “You need to get grounded, get some control.”

“Technically speaking, I don't think _avoiding_ the problem will help me control it. It’s been happening for the last day or so,” replied Jordan. All the same, he stared out at the grassy hillside that blocked the view of the ocean. Maybe Derek was right. He startled when Derek tugged his arm in a hint to follow him as marched away from the porch.

“Fine. What am I thinking now?” he asked. Jordan looked.

“Nothing.”

“Wrong. I'm thinking you’re a pain in the ass.”

“That's not fair...”

“So keep trying,” replied Derek. “Give me something to work with here.”

Jordan shook his head. “I can't read people’s minds, Derek.”

“It sounds like you can...”

“Okay. Remember something. Think about something that's already happened, exactly as it happened,” Jordan suggested. Derek stared at him, blank for a moment. Then, to Jordan’s view, it was like he lit up in flames.

“Fire,” he reported. It disappeared quickly. Derek tilted his head.

Jordan nodded. “I can't hear what you're thinking, Derek. But I can see when you... project a memory. I guess you carry big stuff around with you and it... literally _follows_ you around. Like a shadow.”

A few images splashed around Derek. The only thing Jordan recognized was Stiles, holding a handsaw. When he asked about it, it was gone again, more people appearing like smoke shadows around Derek.

“You’re supposed to try to control it,” Derek reminded him.

Jordan saw a younger looking Derek, and the younger version of Peter that he had seen following his parents around. Jordan squinted and tried to see through it, then closed his eyes and tried not to see anything. He focused his attention on his hands, felt his hands start to glow hot. He followed the distraction, opened his eyes, and stared at the heat emission waves. With a little effort, he felt fire between his palms, like the switch of a lighter. But it was just between his palms, only where he wanted to think about it. When he looked up at Derek again, the haze around him was gone. He let the heat go out of his hands, resulting in a bit of smoke, and looked back at the omegas with his father on the porch. There was no smoky haze around any of them either anymore.

Somehow, it worked.

Jordan let out a relieved breath. “Oh thank god.”

“You say that now,” grumbled Derek. “But don't ever let anybody else see you do that fire thing.”

***


	27. Chapter 27

It made sense that Shawn didn't stay awake very long. He barely picked at his food, asked the nurse for pain medication, and then passed out. He didn't once ask to hold the baby. Stiles noticed that he didn't really look at her, either.

It only reinforced his belief that he had done the right thing by putting his name on her birth certificate. Shawn was a good guy, he had always been so protective and careful of the baby at school, minded his diet, talked about his and Chloe’s plans for life with the child. She would wear him down. He would come around eventually, and Stiles would make sure the little baby was still where she could be found when Shawn remembered he had planned on keeping her. He remembered too well the absolute detachment and isolation that he had felt from withdrawals and Shawn had had a weekend ten times worse. He would get better, it would just take him some time to get his feet back under him and realize he hadn’t been abandoned.

In the meantime, the nurse helped Stiles with the formula food for the baby, and brought him bucketloads of baby toys, pink and blue blankets, baby onesies, and tiny shoes from the donations the hospital had been receiving since the news broadcast. She even let Stiles borrow the Omega Wing’s little book of baby names so he could track down the little girl’s name. Which, of course, meant that was the scene that his dad walked into when he showed up that afternoon: Stiles, in a rocking chair, with a tiny blanket swaddled baby on his shoulder, stuffed animals stacked on every other available surface in the room, and an actual paper book, battered and spine-bent, in his hand with “ _101 Baby Names_ ” in bright colored letters across the cover.

“Okay... this is a very _weird_ day,” his dad said, shaking his head. Stiles hadn't seen him until he spoke up and it surprised him. He started to stand up but his dad waved him back down. He moved over to sit on the toy-cluttered bench near Stiles’ chair, a hand on his arm to keep him from disturbing the baby.

“I watched a baby be born today,” reported Stiles. “I’ve seen _a_ _lot of shit_ the last couple years, but... My weird is weirder than yours.”

“Yes. Yours is weirder,” his dad agreed. He shook his head. “And you’re proud of that, so I will let you have it without argument.”

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, watching his dad for signs of more than worry. Instead, his dad smiled at him, reached over and tousled his hair.

“I think I’m good, yeah. The doctor said you’ve got the clean bill of health. We can go home. Well, kind of, anyway,” he said. Stiles was momentarily horrified; _whose_  home would he have to go to?

“What’d the lawyers say?” he asked.

“That your accidental sting operation just netted six jail terms with a potential for another twelve on plea deals if they turn over their pals,” said his dad. “They weren't so pleased that we didn't ask for official back up from the locals but the video is admissible in the Omega Courts, and two of the four omegas were married, so their spouses planned to offer testimony to back it up.”

“That’s great... but I kinda meant more like, what did _my_ lawyer say?”

“That you shouldn't have beat the shit out of their cars?” his dad said, sounding mildly amused however tired. “They don't expect problems from that, at least.”

“Still not what I was asking about,” said Stiles.

“Not my fault you’re determined to get yourself a record,” replied his dad

“Actually it is, _Dad_.”

That amused his father considerably but he stayed quiet, shrugged it off. “Other than that, I haven't heard anything. We go home, they can call us. If Carrington wants to insist on this bullshit visitation, though, from now on it’ll be in Beacon Hills.”

That was a load off. Stiles felt like he could breathe normally again, like somehow he had been holding his breath for a few hours without noticing. It bought him some time if nothing else. And he had a small child on his shoulder that was going to demand the time.

“And...” his dad was reluctant to whatever he was trying to drag out of himself. It didn't make him happy. Stiles raised an eyebrow at him, curious but getting anxious. It was enough of a hint and his dad sighed. “And the _bad news_ is that there will be an investigator out to the hospital tonight to take your statement, interview you since you weren't there this afternoon. They've got the case on the docket for tomorrow morning, so we can’t exactly skip town.”

“Good.”

“Shawn’s not cleared to leave the hospital yet, so this is the only testimony he can offer. And I don’t think we should leave town without him. All of the other omegas have gone on the record, including JT. And I should tell you... Jordan and Derek found evidence of another Omega on site. They found a, uh... the body toward the back of the property near a river or something. So the county isn't messing around on this one. None of that bull crap the judge gave us about brokers. They’re _moving_ on this.”

Eyes wide, Stiles stared at his dad. It was one of those moments that threatened reality, to realize how close he had been to becoming a statistic. His dad caught him by the arm, tried to reassure him.

“Hey. The court case on this is a good thing. It's getting handled. And Lilah says it won't go well for them that they put a judge’s husband at risk. This one won't come back to kick us in the teeth. Okay? You can make a statement if you want to. But if you don't want to risk it-”

“No. I want to. Some of the guys were the ones from before,” said Stiles. “I just didn't know about somebody dying.”

His dad nodded, looked over at the sleeping Shawn. “Yeah. From what I heard, they took the baby, didn't save the mother. Probably a day or so ago.”

Stiles tugged Shiloh closer to him. “People suck.”

His dad agreed without a word, squeezed his arm. The room got quiet and stayed that way, the tiny Stilinski family momentarily stuck in how close they had come to losing each other over the last few weeks.

It weighed on Stiles; he was at the center of this trouble. And he _kind of maybe just a little bit_ might have added to it. Sure, Shawn was on board. But Stiles hadn't exactly cleared it with anyone else.

“Uhm. So... Dad... I kind of found a loophole on the stuff with Kyle. And I kind of... committed to it,” he finally said. His father’s momentarily peaceful mood faded to a pale suspicion.

“What did you do?”

Stiles offered up his most sincere, most innocent smile. He carefully slid the baby down from his shoulder and leaned forward to present her to his father. “Meet your granddaughter, Dad.”

“Oh my god tell me you didn't.” The sheriff of Beacon Hills stared at a small hours-old baby like she were a multi-headed demon.

“I signed the birth certificate. Shawn told me to get Jordan to sign it, too, so she’d have a home,” Stiles said. He very carefully started pushing the baby into his dad’s arms as a way of forestalling any kind of more explosive shock reactions. She was quiet. She was a newborn. There was no way his dad would risk scaring a tiny perfect human child. And technically it worked. Whatever drastic response his dad would otherwise have had at Stiles breaking the law was dampened by tiny chubby cheeks and a tiny fist escaping the bundle of blankets.

“Goddamnit, Stiles. We specifically agreed _no babies_...”

“Yeah but she’s cute...”

“You don't bring home girls just because they’re cute,” his father chided.

“ _I_ do, _whenever_ possible,” replied Stiles. “I mean, it's not like it's ever happened more than like twice. And she’s technically homeless. Shawn’s... not in a great place. But I know he’d feel worse if he put her up for adoption...”

“That’s not an excuse to suddenly bring home a baby, Stiles...”

“Kyle doesn't want kids,” Stiles replied. He poked at the little girl’s cheek and her eyes lit up so his dad could see. “And my name’s on her birth certificate. He can't argue with that signature in an omega court.”

His dad looked up at him then, surprise clear on his face. He shook his head, but Stiles saw the grin.

“This is the _stupidest_ brilliant thing you’ve ever done,” he told him. Stiles accepted the compliment quite happily.

“I figured,” he replied. “But I couldn't just... let them get hurt, Dad. Shawn’s gonna come around.”

“You don't know that,” his dad pointed out. “What about Jordan?”

Stiles shrugged. “He’ll be okay with it.”

“A surprise _baby_ is not something you’re suddenly okay with, Stiles. You’re pushing it.”

That didn't seem fair at all. “How come I can come back suddenly married, but Jordan can't suddenly accept that I’ve got a kid?”

“She’s not a puppy, kiddo.”

“ _I’m_ not a signature on a piece of paper, either.”

“Yeah, and how’d you feel about being treated like one? You’re just going to turn around and shove that on Jordan?” His dad shook his head. “That’s not a great way to get started, son. The whole marriage thing... it’s not about getting revenge or something, blow for blow.”

“This wasn't about revenge. I just made up my mind that I could help her and Shawn, _and_ me at the same time...”

His father nodded his understanding. “And I'm just saying... maybe work on your communication skills with your partner if you’re going to stick with it, that’s all. He deserved a say in this one if you two really meant it. Technically I did, too, given that _I’m_ going to be financing babysitters apparently. But I at least knew this surprise would happen someday. Didn't I, little one?” He poked at her hand and the baby grasped his finger as best as her tiny hand could. Stiles figured that at least his dad was hooked.

Nervous, he gnawed at a fingernail and stared at the wall. His dad had a point. And, Stiles realized suddenly, he had left Jordan’s ring at home so it wouldn't get taken from him at Kyle’s. He wasn't wearing it _and_ he hadn't asked about the baby. Jordan was going to think he hated him after this. _Shit_.

“Where’s Jordan?” he asked.

“I made him take his dad home. Those two had some stuff to sort out.”

That was as baffling as it was worrisome. “Huh? What kind of stuff?”

“The kind of stuff that comes along when you sell your Omega father to murderous breeders in an effort to save your boyfriend,” came the answer. “Which, you know, as _your_ dad, I can appreciate. As his boss though? I'm a little worried he went along with _Peter Hale_.”

Stiles’ eyes went wide as it clicked for him then. “His visions, Dad. He had a bad one at Alcatraz. That must have been what it was about. There's no way he would risk his dad without a sure thing.”

His dad moved to give the baby back to him. “Visions aren't a sure thing. From what I’ve seen, they get people _burned_.”

“Yeah but he's getting better at them. It worked out...” Stiles said. He curled the baby up in the crook of his arm and sat back in the rocker. His dad cheated while he was distracted with her, leaned over to kiss him on the forehead and ruff up his hair again.

“Don't worry about it. I was kidding. You can talk it out with Jordan later, I’m staying out of it.”

Stiles accepted the assurance with a distracted nod. His dad wouldn't really fire Jordan over it. The baby fussed at him so Stiles tried to get present; she was a perceptive little thing. His dad poked his arm to draw his attention back.

“So... what is this child’s name?”

Stiles almost went after the baby name book again, but it was a long reach away with a baby pinning him to the rocker. So he went with his gut.

“Shawn didn't name her. He told me to,” said Stiles. “So far, I think of her as Shiloh. Because she belongs to herself. And it's a pretty name, right?”

His dad nodded, looking a little surprised. “Your mom loved that song.”

“I just... don't want her to have to owe anybody anything. Not even her name,” said Stiles. “It's important.”

“It's a beautiful name,” his dad assured him.

“Good. She’s beautiful. It should be,” said Stiles. He looked up at his dad. “Did you see her eyes? They do that thing Jordan’s do...”

“Listen. Stiles. You need to start being more careful,” his dad said, sounding tired. “Our house is not fireproof. The thought of a toddler running around, setting people on fire like Jordan does...”

“That’s not fair,” argued Stiles, offering quiet defense in consideration of the baby. “Scott and Derek do something like that. Or Kira. I mean, it's not just _Jordan_. Maybe it's just because she's an omega’s baby. Maybe she’ll grow out of it...”

His dad leaned forward and scrubbed his hands over his face. Stiles obviously wasn't making it any better. _Oops?_

***


	28. Chapter 28

It was decided that Peter and Derek needed a hotel for the night; they had no transportation of their own in the city, they couldn't stay at the hospital, and there was no way in hell Jordan would let Peter stay with his parents. The man was a psycho who couldn't be trusted. He was not welcome. So after dropping the sheriff off at the hospital to check on Stiles, Jordan drove to a nearby hotel to book them a room, as a way of offering thanks for not being psycho on his family so far. Positive reinforcement while also maintaining a healthy, proactive defense strategy. JT took the thank-you up a notch, set Peter up with a room upgrade and ordered him dinner to be delivered to the room. That was probably an apology as much as anything and Jordan thought it was a step too far, but he didn't say anything about it.

He was strangely conflicted on the issue of Peter Hale since that afternoon’s supernatural visual FX memory reels.

Jordan’s parents had never lied to him about how he came about. They never told him some crazy whopper about omegas magically impregnating when they fell in love or something, they had always said there was a genetic donor involved. He even knew about the bar hopping wild nights involved in the whole thing because, as an adult Jordan had developed a protective moral code, and his dad had wanted to remind him that everybody had their own reasons for one-night-stands. Not everyone was after a relationship, sometimes they just wanted a drink and a screw, and there was nothing terrible about that. Jordan was bad at the casual sex and bar hook-up scene, he didn't actually understand it, but he at least pretended to. If his parents wanted to swing that way, good for them. He had never really thought about the people they hooked up with until Peter shoved it in his face.

He had been angry at Peter for that because he wanted no reason to worry about Derek’s crazy uncle. Jordan had parents and didn't want to somehow lose them because of someone else showing up and having a fit about it all. But seeing what had to have been memories surrounding Peter and his parents that afternoon had dragged up stuff Jordan didn't want to think about on his own, fuzzy memories of things he had forgotten in the chaos of the last year. Peter’s version of events, unknown as it was aside from his surprise attack weeks earlier, was suddenly a little too relatable. Despite knowing that Peter was a terrible person, that they had nothing in common and he wanted nothing to do with him, Jordan felt bad for him.

What if things had been different? What if, growing up, Jordan's parents had included Peter in the whole parenting thing? The man just wanted a family, had gone crazy when he lost his pack. Would things have been different if he'd still had a son? Maybe, Jordan realized, he wasn't being fair to Peter now.

Crazy was crazy, a psycho couldn't change his stripes, but it wasn't Peter's fault that JT and Lilah had hidden their kid from him.

While JT and Derek sorted out the bill for the room, Jordan helped Peter carry their bags up to it. The quiet, thoughtful truce didn't last long.

“You're welcome,” Peter said to him once they stood in the isolation of the elevator.

It surprised Jordan a bit. “What?”

“You're welcome. For helping,” Peter replied. “You said you were keeping track of my usefulness. I did as you asked, I didn't hurt your dad and I helped get him back. No questions, no profit. So. You are welcome.”

When he caught up, Jordan shook his head. “You still sold him, so there was a profit.”

Peter’s smug grin turned into a scowl at the doors as they opened. “Stilinski made me hand over the cash as evidence.”

Jordan bit back a laugh. He kept the smile off his face, stayed serious. “Then yes. Thank you for the help. And thank you for getting Stiles back also.”

Peter nodded. “I'm glad they taught you manners.”

“They taught me a few things, yeah,” said Jordan. He followed as Peter tracked down his room. It wasn't far down the hall from the elevator. With one cardkey-swipe, Peter was in his own room and Jordan was no longer needed for company, only to drop Derek's bag. Still, he followed Peter inside. He wouldn't stay long, but he wanted to say his peace at least.

“Also... I wanted to apologize,” Jordan said as he closed the door behind him. He still lurked in the entry of the room as Peter crossed to open curtains. The words surprised Peter enough that he stopped in his tracks, bag dumped and curtains only half pulled aside. He squinted at Jordan, head tilted like he didn't quite trust it.

“Apologize for what?”

“For not giving you the benefit of the doubt,” said Jordan. “My parents treated you badly years ago and I didn't make it any better. I'm sorry things worked out how they did.”

Peter crossed his arms, the usual smug distrust clear. “And where did this come from.”

Jordan tried to shrug it off. “You helped us anyway. Today. So I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, you said that,” said Peter with an encouraging nod. He lifted a hand, tapped at his ear. “But that's not all I hear happening.”

Jordan looked past him, out to the balcony behind the curtain. Werewolves and lies and half-truths were a complication Jordan didn't often have to think about. He tried to sort out how to answer when he wasn't sure exactly what he knew from what he felt.

“I think... I mean. I've just been thinking,” Jordan floundered a little as he tried to put it to words. “Maybe it's possible that what happened to you, how my parents handled things, maybe it's happened to me, too. There’s nothing to say it hasn't. It could happen to anyone. So I realized it's not fair that I blame you for the fact that it happened to you. And maybe now that I know about it, I've been just as to blame for participating in it as my parents were for not telling you in the first place.”

Peter stared at him, waiting him out like he expected more rambles. Jordan stubbornly shut up; he was calling a truce on the issue, not inviting Peter to a family BBQ.

“So you’re saying I've got a grand kid somewhere then,” Peter concluded. The expression on his face said the wheels were turning. Jordan let out a frustrated sigh.

“No, I'm saying I don't know. And because of that, I'm saying I'm sorry for disregarding the way my parents handled it and how that might have impacted you. If it did, I'm sorry. If it didn't, then I still consider them wrong in how they handled it but I'm glad you have happy memories of your time with my parents and I really, really _never_ want to learn anything more about it.”

Peter nodded acceptance of the clarification, mulled it over. “Alright then. So just for the record, yes, there was an impact. I may not be anybody’s favorite, but family is important to me. I don't like losing family.”

“You don't like _losing_ ,” replied Jordan. Peter shrugged.

“Very true. Most people don't,” said Peter. “But family is family.”

Jordan nodded. “And thank you for respecting mine even when they didn't show you the same respect.”

“You asked me to,” said Peter. “It was a favor to my son.”

Jordan wasn't sure what to say to that, wasn't sure he trusted Peter enough to fully encourage that outlook. Eventually he nodded, accepting the man’s intent at face value for now. He stepped forward then, arm out to offer a handshake.

“Thank you for helping keep my family safe,” he said. “And given the way things have been going, I'll ask now for your help in keeping them safe. It would be nice to have backup going forward.”

It wasn't an emotional, Hallmark card or Lifetime movie declaration of father-son bonding, but it was all Jordan knew how to offer under the circumstances of his life. He was alive because of Peter Hale, but he was a bit of a freak because of him too; but without the man’s brand of crazy, Jordan could have lost parts of his life that were very important to him, too. Peter was a complicated part of his life, but Jordan had at least accepted that maybe the man was a part of it.

“I make no promises,” Peter said. But he shook on it anyway. “Only a crazy man would count on tomorrow.”

That somehow made sense to Jordan. And he realized then that he was apparently crazy, too, by some definitions anyway. He smiled and shrugged, keeping his own gift of the strange supernatural spark to himself for now. Then he headed for the door to track down his dad and Derek.

“That’s fair,” was all he said. “We’ll still pick you up before we go back to Beacon Hills tomorrow though.”

 

***

 

Jordan drove home to his parents’ that night. He tried the whole way home to think of how to apologize but it all got back around to his strange freakish side and his family still didn't know much about that. They were met on the driveway by the pizza delivery guy because Lilah didn't want to cook and nobody was going to let JT cook.

Gray was glued to the news when they walked in, watching the CNN coverage of the footage Carrington had shot that morning. Kyle was interviewed outside the hospital by the local news crew, and those clips aired in between shots of the hunters being escorted out of the house to the Sonoma county sheriff's vehicles. It was obnoxious how squeaky clean the money-man came away from the whole thing as he talked to a CNN reporter in another _Exclusive Interview_. Jordan ate food just to make sure he had something on his stomach if he had to puke again.

“Isn't that the guy-” Gray’s question was silenced by his parents and his brother replying “ _yes_.” with varying degrees of severity. Because he was a dumb teenager, Gray still offered up, “He doesn't seem so bad.”

Jordan looked at his brother, unimpressed and annoyed. “Gray. G. I love you. But I _will_ kill you.”

“I'm just saying...”

“There are things you don't know, sweetie,” Lilah chimed in to keep the peace. JT clapped Jordan on the shoulders, offered a backwards hug over the back of the couch. Jordan thought he might go crazy at the simple act of love he really didn't feel deserving of just then.

“Why aren't you at the hospital?” his dad asked. “You should go check on him.”

Jordan stayed silent, stared at the TV, shoved a piece of pizza in his mouth to avoid answering. JT seemed to catch on.

“Gray, go check the neighborhood for Stiles’ dog again,” JT told his youngest. Jordan started to stand up to go help the pointless errand rather than wait around for something he didn't understand yet how to approach. His dad tightened his grip on his shoulders and leaned just enough to keep him down. Gray thought about it before grudgingly standing to leave. Lilah followed after him, pausing long enough to catch her husband in a kiss.

“You stay _home_ ,” she told him.

“Yes ma'am,” replied JT. Then, as they left the house, JT moved to sit on the ottoman in front of Jordan.

“Okay. What gives,” he said. “What is this noise you keep throwing at me? I say _noise_ because you stopped using actual _words_ around 9am. At least with me. All I get is static.”

Despite himself, Jordan looked for the weird memory aura around his dad. He wasn't sure if he could do it, but he tried, just for practice. What he saw was a kind of photo-reel of stuff from his own life; him and his dad at t-ball practice, him and his older brother play-fighting at drowning each other in the pool, their high school graduation, Jordan coming back from the Middle East in fatigues and boots with a broken arm and a duffle bag and a smile on his face...

It wasn't fair.

“Dad. Do you even... do you _get_ what I _did_?” he finally asked. JT shook his head.

“All I know is you and Peter cooked up something and we saved six people,” he said. Jordan shook his head.

“That's not how it happened,” he said. His dad didn't seem concerned.

“That's how it happened from my end.”

“I literally sold you out. Everything could have gone so wrong. We found a body there, Dad. Okay? Somebody _died_. I put you at so much risk, and it might not have worked out. It was a gamble, and it was based on bad intel,” said Jordan. “I just... get these visions and I trusted them. And I shouldn't have. Not everything was right. I missed details. Some of them don't even make sense...”

“Like what?” JT asked. Jordan floundered a little.

“Like the thing with Peter. I saw him sell you off, I saw him take your ring. I knew he was tracking the guys who grabbed Stiles, so when Stiles disappeared... I made it happen. I told Peter to turn you in.”

“What, like a self-fulfilling prophecy?”

“Yeah. I thought it up in a vision so I made it happen,” said Jordan.

“So?” asked his dad. “You acted on it, you chose to do something. So whatever you saw, you changed. Let's say you can see the future. These visions are all accurate and exactly what is supposed to happen. But the second you act on them, maybe you change their outcome.”

“It didn't change,” Jordan replied. “You still ended up helping Shawn with Stiles.”

“Maybe, but Peter didn't take my ring from me,” JT told him. “I left my ring in the car for safe keeping so he shoved his on my hand before we got there. He said some shitty things, we put on a show for the hunters, and that was part of it. Who knows how it would have all happened if you hadn't called him. What if he would have tried it on his own anyway, without your help. How badly would _that_ have gone? What if that's what you changed.”

“But that's my point, Dad. I don't know. And when I act on this stuff without knowing, I could make it all worse,” said Jordan.

“Maybe. You could,” JT allowed. “And what could happen if you ignore it? You’re a sheriff's deputy. You put on a badge and you wear a gun and you go out everyday and make decisions based on the information you have at hand. People could get hurt if you don't read the scene right. But people could get hurt if you don't bother to show up, too. So what do you do?”

Jordan stared at his hands, conflicted. “I shouldn't have put you at risk for it though.”

JT rolled his eyes. “Damn. My son thinks I'm competent enough to help in a rescue operation and keep my omega-addled head despite risk to personal safety. What-ever have I done _wrong_ in my job as a parent to deserve such faith.”

The sarcasm was delivered in a flat tone and accompanied by a prolonged sigh of dismay. Jordan shook his head.

“I risked family. I'm not okay with that.”

“You risked family to _save_ family,” his dad argued. “And I think I did a pretty good job at keeping us alive. I want credit for that.”

That broke through and Jordan gave a small huff of amusement. “Yeah. You did awesome.”

“And I’m just putting it out there... don't beat yourself up over something I’m proud of,” JT said. “If you’re not proud of how you handled it. Fine, _good_ , take note. Next time you ever find yourself facing that impossible decision, do _better_. That's all you can do.”

Jordan nodded acceptance as he thought it over.

“So that's settled?” his dad asked.

“Sure,” he replied.

“Then are you gonna call your brother and tell him werewolves exist or are you gonna make me do it?”

Jordan arched an eyebrow. “It's not my fault you lie to your children.”

JT dismissed the casual accusation with a wave. “You and Robin turned out okay. I’ll beat myself up over that one when Gray stops making _Dear Santa_ wishlists on Amazon.”

Jordan shook his head, amused despite himself. In the grand scheme of family lies, he figured the Santa conspiracy didn't count. But he also figured there were other things that were more important to protect. And in that, maybe his dad was right.

On the TV screen, Kyle Carrington told the reporter selflessly, “Oh no, Katie. I don't care about the costs. I just want to be sure my friends are getting the best care possible. As long as everyone’s okay and happy, that’s all that matters.”

Jordan rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling. If Kyle didn't actually drop off the face of the earth at the soonest possible opportunity, Jordan would be glad to give him a push.

 

***


	29. Chapter 29

The next morning, due to public pressure, the hospital allowed Kyle and a reporter into Shawn’s room. As well as an entire florist shop’s worth of flowers for Shawn. Stiles, on the other hand, had stayed there all night to help with the baby, and he looked it; unkempt, dirty, rumpled, tired and bruised. Kyle quietly handed him his duffel bag and told him to go clean up before the cameras got there. With his dad gone, stuck at a hotel because the hospital wouldn't let him stay in the Omega Wing outside of visiting hours, Stiles was stuck by court order obeying Kyle on this one. He was pissed as hell but he was stuck. The hospital social worker was there to supervise so Stiles went along with it.

When he got out, he was surprised to see Kyle sitting by the bed, holding Shawn’s hand like a doting lover should. He didn't interrupt the interview and went quietly around the group to collect Shiloh from her bassinet so Kyle couldn't touch her. He didn't know what was going on but he sure as hell didn't trust it.

Stiles tried to catch Shawn’s attention, but the whole scene had him plenty distracted. His face was pink, and he was smiling sleepily, embarrassed but happy. He kept staring at Kyle like a puppy. Or like an omega starved on endorphins suddenly overdosed on attention. Oh _shit_.

“Shawn,” the reporter asked. “How old are you, if you don't mind? Can you tell us about yourself beyond this ordeal?”

“Nineteen in two months,” he replied. “Uh. I was supposed to get married on Valentine's Day...”

“Aww, that's adorable,” said the reporter, obviously misunderstanding the scene. “That's just this week! Congratulations!”

Shawn floundered, his expression paled drastically. “Well, I mean, it was kind of called off-”

The worst possible thing ever happened then: Kyle tugged on Shawn’s hand to draw his attention back. There was too much going on around the bed, Stiles didn't have a good view, but he swore he saw Kyle put something in Shawn’s hand.

“Now that you’re home, we could get the big day back on the schedule...” Kyle said it with the smug smile and the bedroom eyes and everything. Stiles felt like he had walked out of the bathroom into an alternate dimension.

What the actual hell was going on? Did he actually just propose to Shawn on the news? _First off, that was a shitty way to propose, and goddamn second of all, Shawn was not allowed to marry a lying, abusive, pig of a human being. Shawn was too smart for that._

Except...

“Oh my _god_. Are you shitting me?” Shawn actually swore out loud, twice, on camera. The reporter gasped, surprised, and Kyle just laughed like he was proud.

“No, Shawn, I mean it,” he said. Stiles was shocked; when had Kyle bothered to learn his friend’s name? It only got weirder as Shawn checked out the ring Kyle had put on his hand. Stiles turned the baby away so her tiny unfocused eyes wouldn't accidentally witness any of the bullshit unfolding for the public’s benefit in front of the camera. Shawn was supposed to be smarter than that; what good were all those A’s in school if he couldn't see through Kyle Carrington?

Shawn was an omega, trained and brainwashed by a shitty family and a cowardly world. And Kyle was going to get him through withdrawals before Shawn even knew what hit him. As much as Shawn had fought with Stiles about seeing what the real world was outside of the Omega Track, there would be no reaching him if Kyle had already won him over.

Well, the good news was that Stiles wouldn't have to pay Kyle back for any broker fees now; the man still walked away with a naturally sassy Omega.

 

***

 

The news crew had been gone for about ten minutes when Stiles’ dad and Jordan finally showed up. Stiles hadn't set Shiloh down once since Kyle's arrival, even took her to the nursery to do the diaper change. He took the birth certificate with him then, just to be safe. Shawn had lost his damn mind. He was wrapped around Kyle’s finger and seemed to be hanging on to a lifeline. They were making plans, they were making out, and Stiles and the baby did _not_ exist.

When Jordan showed up, everything got somehow weirder. Stiles greeted him with a big kiss, feeling just a little territorial if he was honest, and Jordan was distracted by the baby. His attention to Shiloh made Stiles happy; it would be no trouble at all to get Jordan to sign the birth certificate. He held her careful and showed no signs of lighting up; finally something would work out.

But the strange thing happened when Jordan moved into the room and greeted the lovebirds at the hospital bed. He and Shawn just kind of stared at each other for a moment after Kyle said a gruff hello.

“Good morning,” Jordan said, not quite his usual cheerful self. Stiles stood beside him, confused at how Shawn turned pink.

“I'm glad you’re feeling better. And the baby is beautiful,” Jordan went on. He looked at Shawn. “It was _Ryan_ , wasn't it?”

Baffled, Stiles looked on as Shawn just nodded, his pink turned an embarrassed purple.

“She's a girl, Jordan,” Stiles said, not understanding. “Her name is Shiloh. Not Ryan.”

“Ah,” said Jordan. He didn't sound very enlightened. “I must have been misinformed.”

There was something weird under the surface, but with Kyle right there, Shawn wasn't offering up any explanations. Stiles’ dad didn't seem to understand much better than he did but he put those sheriffing skills to work and changed the subject.

“So, Stiles... when can you two get the heck out of here and go home?” he asked. Shawn actually spoke up then.

“The doctor cleared her a few hours ago,” he offered up. “She can go whenever Stiles does.”

Stiles looked from Jordan to Kyle and Shawn.

“So wait... we’re all good, right?” he asked. “I can go home?”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Please. Go away.”

Stiles didn't have to be told twice about that one. He shoved the hospital paperwork at his dad for all the release signatures to start happening. Then he started gathering up Shiloh’s gifts from the hospital and from Kyle’s adoring pro-Omega fan base, shoving her things in his duffel.

“Okay, so you two... do whatever you’re gonna do... but Shawn, you fuckin’ call me next week or I’m sending in a welfare check up through Alameda County Courts,” Stiles said, half joking for Shawn’s benefit but dead serious for Kyle’s. “You don't get to, like, disappear down here or something.”

“I'm gonna get _married_...” Shawn replied, confused and laughing.

“That does not dissolve a friendship,” Stiles replied. He didn't mention Shiloh because he was in full protective mode and Shawn was in full-on infatuated omega mode. The less Shawn and Kyle thought about the baby, the better for Stiles.

“But what if we... do the honeymoon thing?” Shawn asked, blushing bright. Stiles stopped packing to roll his eyes at the ceiling.

“Dude. I asked for a phone call, not a FaceTime video call. I _don't_ wanna know,” he said. When he turned around, he looked to his dad, saw Jordan reaching awkwardly across Shiloh to sign something on the clipboard full of hospital papers his dad was holding. The birth certificate. He let out a relieved breath and shouldered the duffel.

Thank god he and Jordan were on the same page.

 

***


	30. Chapter 30

The storybook ending ran well with the press: tech mogul saves Omega, just in time for a Valentine's Day wedding. Even the radio picked it up on the drive back to Jordan's parents’ house.

“It bugs me,” Stiles announced from the backseat. “Valentine's Day is the anniversary of a mobster _massacre_ and Shawn’s cool with marrying some stranger he doesn't even know...”

Jordan glanced back at him where he sat with the baby in the carrier, both buckled and safe. Then he looked back at the road, glad the sheriff was driving. There was too much he was processing to worry about San Francisco traffic, too.

“He did a lot for Chloe and he knew her, and she hurt him anyway,” Jordan pointed out. “I think maybe Shawn’s marrying the money at this point.”

“That's not him though. He's too by the book, man. Perfect Omega,” said Stiles. Jordan let out a laugh, not amused.

“That perfect Omega faked a driver’s license so he could walk into a bar and drink his way into somebody’s pants because his _fiancé_ wanted a baby,” Jordan pointed out. “And he probably didn't even tell the guy what he wanted when he got it. Seems pretty ruthless to me.”

Jordan noticed his boss look over at him, suspicion on his face, so he looked away.

“I’m gonna guess that fake ID said his name was _Ryan_ ,” Stilinski offered up. That wasn't helpful.

“Wait, what?” asked Stiles from the back seat.

“Don't worry about it,” said Stilinski. Jordan cast a glare at him for the extra unhelpful contribution.

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe it did.”

From the back, Stiles started arguing with his seat belt.

“Are you _shitting_ me?!”

“I don't want to talk about it,” Jordan said. It wasn't enough to dissuade Stiles. He popped up in between the front seats, staring at Jordan.

“I don't _super_ care about the nitty gritty details, man, I just want to know what the hell you aren't telling me,” he said. “That little girl's eyes spark like yours do. Is that, like, an omega thing or is she really yours?”

“You would have to ask Shawn,” said Jordan.

“You didn't ask him anything before you signed the birth certificate,” said Stiles.

“Your name was on it. I _know_ she's not yours,” Jordan pointed out. “And there's no point asking him for confirmation. He didn't even tell me his real name. I wouldn't trust him on it now.”

“So you, like, _did it_?” Because apparently Stiles was only nine years old. “You and Shawn?”

“Oh come on, Stiles. If you start singing about a goddamn tree or something-” began the sheriff. Jordan interrupted the both of them, wanting off the topic.

“Six or seven months ago, I was at the bar with some of the guys from the hospital. Somebody who looked like Shawn bought me a few drinks. But this guy had longer hair, he was smaller... I don't know if it was him. He said his name was Ryan. Not _Shawn_.”

“Holy shit.”

“Settle down,” the sheriff told Stiles, trying to get him to back off. “You should be buckled...”

Stiles reluctantly sat back on his chair. “So you think Shawn did to you what your folks did to Peter?”

Jordan clenched his jaw. “I strongly suspect.”

Stiles finally caught on to the source of Jordan’s bitterness and went silent. After a long quiet, he unbuckled his seat belt again to lean forward to stare at Jordan again. This time, instead, he tried to smooth away the bad attitude with a kiss to the cheek.

“You’re welcome,” Stiles said, only a fraction as smug as the words would suggest. Jordan looked at him over his shoulder in open suspicion.

“For what?”

“For me switching to Omega Track so that I could steal you your baby girl back,” said Stiles. “Thanks to that one _selfless_ act, you now won't turn into a crazy, psycho, stalker someday like Peter. That's on me. I'm calling it now.”

Jordan tried to glare at him for mentioning Peter, but the exaggerated, ridiculous logic instead made him laugh a little. “That's not how it works.”

Stiles smiled at him. “Yes, it is.”

Jordan started to argue only to be chased down by kisses again until he shut up. Given that Stiles’ dad was driving, and Stiles was now only half in the back seat, the game didn't last long.

“Knock it off or I take Whittemore’s advice and send you to the nunnery while I still can,” his dad grumbled at them. Stiles reluctantly crashed back into his seat.

“I would be the only omega there with a kid,” Stiles warned. “Which’d have to mean immaculate conception, and they'd treat me like a king. Bring it.”

“You could enjoy this a little less,” Jordan called back to him.

“Why would I?” asked Stiles. “I get to go _home_ , and _my_ baby daughter is beautiful. I don't know what your problem is, man.”

Jordan looked back at him, considering. Then he nodded acceptance of the point. Stiles reached out and caught at his arm, tugging gently until Jordan caught the hint. He reached back then and caught Stiles’ hand. He didn't have to let go until they got to his parents’ house.

 

***

 

Jordan had always figured he wanted a family. He grew up with a brother, he had a little brother. Family was something he knew about. But he hadn't planned on getting one overnight. They were supposed to be built, gradually, carefully.

Instead, Jordan had to introduce his little brother to his new niece _and_ make his parents explain Omega genetic donor-logic to him in the same hour, on the same day the national news explained how his husband had survived breeders with little more than a black eye.

It was a little too much. Actually, a _lot_ too much.

Regardless of how overwhelmed he felt about it, Jordan still introduced his parents to their grandchild. He got to see the surprise and pride on their faces, and the relief and excitement on his dad’s face when JT realized he had not only played a role in saving a son-in-law but also his first grandchild. It wasn't what any of them expected from the year when they had their family gathering for the new year a month earlier. It was a complete restart, new and uncharted waters for all of them. It didn't quite seem real, even though Shiloh very much was.

“Shiloh Brenna Stilinski?” his dad read off the birth certificate with a fair amount of judgment in his tone. Stiles snatched it back from him, shrugging it off.

“Jordan wasn't there and he had my phone. I couldn't put his name down,” he said in his own defense.

“It can be changed,” said Jordan’s mom. Stiles looked offended.

“What's wrong with _Stilinski_?” he wanted to know.

“Yeah...” chimed in Jordan’s boss, in the Boss-voice. Jordan coughed and tried to wave his parents off the topic.

“So you're gonna hyphenate?” JT asked Stiles. He squinted at the birth certificate, stalling.

“Maybe.”

“Who’s Brenna?” asked Gray.

“Nobody,” Stiles replied. “I just liked it.”

Stiles stood up then and went to put the birth certificate away. He paused as he passed behind where Jordan sat at the dinner table, whispered in his ear. “Brenna means _raven_...”

Jordan choked on his soda and dropped the drink to the table so he wouldn't spill it. Stiles just barely kept from running to keep out of reach.

“Hmm. What was that?” Lilah asked, chiding like she expected she needed to break up a fight.

“Nothing! Promise!” Stiles called back. Jordan focused on breathing rather than drowning. He intentionally didn't look over at Peter and Derek who had both plainly heard Stiles.

“Excuse me a minute,” Jordan said as he stood to go get a clean shirt. He smoothly caught Stiles by the arm and towed him along with him to his room.

“I didn't do anything-” The preemptive defense died flat before it really got anywhere because there were some lies Stiles wouldn't commit to.

“Raven?” Jordan hissed at him as he closed them up in his room.

“She reminded me of you, I didn't know she was your kid...” Stiles said. “Which, I mean, now it makes sense why she reminded me of you. It wasn't just, like, I was missing you or something sappy and gross like that. She actually does look like you ‘cause she kinda-”

Jordan wasn't sure if there was a correlation between the silenced ramble and the fact that he had taken off his shirt, but it was amusing either way. When he looked back, he saw Stiles staring, so he figured there was a _definite_ causal relation.

“So you named her after a bird?” he asked.

“No,” said Stiles, offended but struggling to stay present. Jordan put on a new shirt to try to re-engage Stiles’ higher brain functioning. It mostly worked and he got unstuck.

“No. I named her after _you_. I just said that.”

Jordan shook his head. “I'm not a bird though.”

“Maybe not, but Derek’s not a wolf, either,” said Stiles. “Look. You get the visions, right? You’ve said they come with birds. They come with ravens. I dunno about you, but I've only ever seen ravens hang out with other big black birds. They’re kinda particular about the company they keep.”

“I don't sprout feathers-”

“No, you sprout _flame_ ,” said Stiles. Academic-mode seemed to have caught on. “Two birds do that in the lore we dug up last summer. Phoenix and ravens. And you don't see bright colorful flowy-tailed peacocks, you hang out with ravens. And that- _that_ \- makes you one of _them_.”

“A raven?”

“I mean, technically, some lore is similar, so the story of the raven in some cultures is parallel to the legend of the Phoenix but they are essentially different. You mess with time because you can see the future and people’s memories and stuff, you play with fire and don't get burned. You just kinda turn orange and leave charred marks on people but I am fairly confident-”

Jordan shook his head. “I can do a lot, man. There's been a bunch of weird stuff happening.”

That didn't sound like a newsflash to Stiles apparently. “Well, yeah. That's kinda another reason I’d bank on the raven thing,” he said. “Like, ravens are smart. They learn. They assimilate. They figure out how to use tools. Maybe you don't shape shift like the werewolves, but your stuff shifts around. Like sometimes you _dream_ about the future, sometimes it _hits you_ while you’re hanging out at Alcatraz...”

“I can see memories when I look at people now,” Jordan pointed out. Stiles went bug-eyed.

“Really? How?”

Jordan arched an eyebrow at the stupidly unanswerable question. “Ravens, apparently. According to you. And now according to my daughter’s name, so that's gonna follow me around awhile.”

Stiles squinted at him. Then he crossed his arms.

“Fine. Prove it.”

“I don't know if I can just turn it on and-”

“Practice.”

Since Stiles was insisting, Jordan tried. He looked for the aura like he had the day before. “I mean, maybe it's triggered by emotions or something. There’s no guarantees it will work...”

Stiles just stood there, patiently waiting for his report. Jordan caught sight of the smoky shadows of memory and tried to sort out what he was seeing. When he did, he had to close his eyes.

“Damnit, Stiles. We have to get back down to dinner... there's a baby we have to keep track of...”

Stiles cackled with laughter and crept into his space to tease for a kiss. “You needed the practice. I was helping.”

Jordan allowed it and pulled him in for a hug. “Next time you could _help_ a little closer to G-rated.”

Stiles pulled back enough to meet him eye to eye. “Dude, I just baby-napped my friend’s kid because he's done the frickfrack with the guy I’m married to and I haven't even- so, I mean, I have a lot of non-G-rated catching up to do, here...”

Jordan stared up at the ceiling. “Oh my God, Stiles. Yes. We had _sex_. Say the word. Like an adult. Please.”

“Like the horizontal mambo?” Stiles offered up.

“Stiles.”

“Assault with a friendly weapon?”

Jordan had to try not to laugh. Stiles carried on.

“We’ve got a kid now... I can call it _adult naptime_...”

That was a fair opportunity and Jordan tried to save himself from the worst family dinner time absence explanation ever by moving them toward the door. “Yes. Now excuse me, my daughter is stuck at dinner with our parents...”

Stiles extracted himself and turned to beat Jordan to the door. “Pretty sure the papers say _Stilinski_...”

 

***


	31. Chapter 31

There was a lull after dinner had disappeared. Everyone was getting along. Peter was behaving himself and being kind of freakishly adorable with Shiloh and Gray. Stiles was kind of surprised that Gray hadn't asked him about his dog at all, but he was thankful for that, too, because he wasn't sure what to tell him if he had. Plus he was a bad liar and didn't want to make a worse impression on the in-laws than he already had with the repeated kidnappings and the swearing and everything. So Derek sat on the couch looking like a normal, boring human in a leather jacket, rather than a wolf.

Stiles missed the wolf sometimes, too, but that was mostly when Derek got along too well with his dad and JT and made some wisecrack about his or Jordan’s fledgling parenting skills with Shiloh.

“It’s a big learning curve, alright? We didn't get any practice time,” was Stiles’ only defense.

“You’re doing fine, Stiles,” said Lilah. Apparently the judge was the peacekeeper of the group. It figured.

“Well, _fine_ is a bit much,” said JT, not about to let Stiles off the hook for the rookie mistake of trying to burp a baby without a rag on his shoulder. “But you learn quick. You’ll get there.”

Stiles harrumphed and passed Shiloh over to Jordan so he could dig through his bag for a clean shirt. He ducked behind the couch to change rather than risk Gray or Lilah seeing bruises and cuts. It didn't matter anyway because his dad kept the conversation going while he sat on the floor.

“So Derek, are you going to keep babysitting now that there’s two babies on that detail?” the traitorous sheriff asked.

“ _Excuse_ me-” Stiles grumbled. He was predictably ignored.

“Well, I might as well finish the semester at the college with him,” Derek said. “It's weird being back at school.”

“What do you do, Derek?” Lilah asked, politely curious. Stiles fixed his shirt and popped up to lean over the back of the couch between his dad and Derek.

“Professional stalker,” he offered up in blatant retaliation. “He's almost as good at it as Peter.”

Derek gave him a flat, unamused smile and a very firm, _not-at-all-_ threatening pat on the cheek. “You’re dreaming again, Stiles.”

“Actually,” interrupted Stiles’s dad, attention on Derek. “I wanted to talk to you about that.”

That sounded ominous. He had everyone's attention suddenly. Stiles sobered and stood up, getting to his feet again in case he needed to outsmart his dad in Derek's defense. What the heck was he talking about?

“You and Jordan worked well together this weekend,” his dad went on. Derek and Jordan exchanged a look, then they both seemed to nod and dismiss it.

“Of course they did,” chimed in Peter. “Cousins always play well together.”

“Maybe.” The Sheriff of Beacon Hills was on a very intent track and he wasn't about to let Peter’s taunting distract him from it. “Whatever it was, they saved lives. They didn't kill each other. They got some real results.”

“Helping family,” Derek said, quiet and muffled and maybe even a little embarrassed at the attention.

“You know, Jordan needs a partner still, Derek. And one of the perks of a small town is that, since you're going to school, I could hire you on as an interim officer if you signed up for the academy next semester,” said the sheriff. Stiles’ jaw dropped. His dad was serious.

“Holy crap...” he muttered. His brain was fast forwarding through a hundred different scenarios, weighing it out. Sure, Derek _could_ be a cop, he had the skills to track and defend and all that, and he and Jordan got along okay, but the whole werewolf-thing... and the hunter population of Beacon Hills was ridiculous... but maybe a badge would be a good idea for that very reason...

“Why’s Jay need a partner?” Gray asked. He sounded defensive, which surprised Stiles out of his thoughts. “He said the last one went crazy and tried to _kill_ him. He does fine on his own.”

Stiles looked to Jordan, feeling like a train wreck was eminent. Jordan had been very sensitive on the subject of his last partner. And Gray had a very blunt and unforgiving way of asking questions.

But Jordan had Shiloh tucked to his shoulder, her tiny head tucked under his chin. He seemed calm.

“I don't think Derek’s going to take out family,” Jordan pointed out. He looked over at Derek as though to confirm it. “Right?”

Derek nodded absently, still looking mildly shocked at the offer. “It's not really high on my priority list, nope.”

“Then maybe think it over,” said Stiles’ dad. He looked between Derek and Jordan. “Both of you. If I'm stuck with my deputy for a son in law, I want to know he's got back up we can trust. And Derek’s come through for us a lot. I'd rather pay him than keep arresting him for finding trouble.”

The more Stiles thought about it, the more he liked it. He stood behind Derek and caught his face in his hands so that he could make his friend nod his head.

“He'll do it. He’s on board. This is good,” he said. Derek swatted him away.

“Maybe. I’ll _think_ about it,” he said. Stiles pointed quickly, feeling triumphant.

“That's a _yes_ ,” he reported. “In Derek-speak, that means yes.”

When Derek didn't hit him for it, Stiles knew he was right. He looked at Jordan, smiling and feeling a strange relief. He had friends, and he had family, and maybe he was still going to keep his pack. Maybe things were looking up.

 

***

 

Around nine that night, as the Beacon Hills citizenry were preparing to leave for home, the doorbell of the Parrish home disturbed their goodbyes. Given that it was late, and they had not exactly had the best of weekends, Jordan answered the door, with Derek lurking behind him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Derek asked loudly. That of course caught Stiles’ attention and he went to investigate. It wasn't a huge surprise to see Kyle at the door. Stiles narrowed his eyes and stepped around his friends to deal with the man.

“You can't change your mind,” he said quickly. “You proposed to Shawn on national TV. I am so out of here.”

“That you are,” said Kyle. He was strangely still smiling, not trying to loom over Stiles as he stood on the porch. He held out a dark blue folder. “But I was hoping to find you here rather than have to deliver these in Beacon Hills.”

“Deliver what?” Stiles asked, worry creeping in. Jordan snagged the file from him, probably because of the whole snag about omegas and legal permissions.

“Multiple things,” said Kyle. “First, your copy of the notice that will be taken to the courts in the morning releasing the suit against your father and Jordan. There is no longer a contested claim over you. Please, by all means, enjoy the deputy.”

“I intend to,” said Stiles, not about to let Kyle try to corner him on anything relating to Jordan. Kyle’s expression soured a little, but he kept up the good humor.

“And the other, which I assume your lawyer will look over for you, is an agreement on paternity of Shawn’s baby. We are asking that you accept a trust fund be created for her in lieu of child support.”

“I told Shawn I _wanted_ to help,” said Stiles, defensive. “I wasn't planning on asking him for support.”

“Which is admirable,” Kyle agreed. “But in light of Shawn’s changed financial situation, I felt we needed to set some ground rules at the start. So you sign the waiver and we’ll establish the trust fund, for emergency purposes or schooling or whatever may arise. But you don't send the court mediator after me in the future.”

“Fine,” said Stiles.

“Our lawyer will look it over,” added Jordan.

“We’ll sign it,” Stiles promised. As long as it kept Kyle away from the baby, it would be signed. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” said Kyle. The smug smile faded a little to something more neutral and genuine. “I’d like to talk to you a minute. Without the chaperones.”

“That's nice,” said Derek. “We’d like _you_ to-”

Whatever accurate statement was about to be set up and knocked down was silenced by Jordan holding a hand over Derek’s mouth to shut him up.

“I think you’ll understand our concerns over that and why it won't be happening,” Jordan replied instead, much calmer and less sarcastic than Derek had managed. Stiles, however, was curious despite himself. He looked over to Jordan, nodded toward the cars in the driveway.

“You guys can go load up the baby and get ready to go,” he suggested. “Steer that request right through the _middle_ territory...”

Jordan considered it, not very happily, before he accepted with a nod. “Fine.”

The look Derek shot his friend then said very clearly that Jordan was bad at consulting his back-up before implementing bad ideas, but they went along with it all the same. Stiles and Kyle moved aside as a small crowd of snoopy chaperones filed out to load into the sheriff's vehicle. It wasn't perfect, but it at least wasn't obvious snooping. True to form, Kyle caught Stiles’ arm and pulled him just a few steps further away. Stiles allowed it rather than make a scene but he kept his own space.

“What?” he asked.

“I wanted to apologize,” said Kyle, quiet but strangely sincere. Stiles noted that out at the driveway, Derek had stopped pretending to help Jordan fit the baby carrier in the back of the county SUV and just stared at them. He, like Stiles, was waiting for the punchline.

“I'll let you do that,” said Stiles. “Apologize for what part? For putting me on the hunters’ list? For having me kidnapped? For dragging my dad and Jordan into court? For trapping me in your house? The fifteen times you-”

“ _Fifteen_ \- you counted?” Somehow Kyle was surprised.

“I _can_ count, jackass,” muttered Stiles, rolling his eyes. Kyle shook his head and let it go.

“Yes,” he said, waving his hands to indicate the whole list that Stiles had thrown at him. “For all of it. It should have worked out, it should have been easy, and it didn't. So there was no mutually beneficial outcome. It shouldn't have happened.”

“See, I think you believe that, but I’m pretty certain you’re okay with ninety-percent of what you did to me,” said Stiles. He wasn't angry, just not in a mood to give ground. “And you shouldn't be. Because now you've got my friend eating out of your hand. And you’re gonna pull the same crap on him. And he won't know to tell you to back off.”

Kyle shook his head. “I've been around Shawn for days now. I know how he works, so I know that the problems you and I have, he doesn't have them. It's like night and day...”

“Funny that a couple of omega might be different people,” said Stiles, not really amused by Kyle’s revelations. Kyle was going to benefit off of Shawn’s omega-social-programming and Shawn wasn't going to know the difference. But there wasn't much Stiles could do about it; Kyle was stepping in to fill a rather gaping hole left by Shawn’s fiancé and parents turning their backs on him. In withdrawal, there was no way Shawn would have said no to Kyle’s offer, and somehow Kyle was going to take advantage of that, Stiles was certain.

“Look. I’m trying to say, I recognize that I did things wrong, and I am sorry you got hurt,” Kyle said. He seemed frustrated enough to actually be sincere. “You and Shawn have both been through a lot, and you shouldn't have. So I am sorry.” Kyle pulled an envelope from his pocket and held it out for Stiles to take. “And I'm trying not to make any of the mistakes with Shawn that I did with you. So this is for you. For Shawn’s baby, just to get her started. I know you'll need the help. He’s going to want to know she's okay, even though he doesn't want to see her.”

That surprised Stiles but riled him a little, too. “He’s allowed to see her. I _told_ him that-”

Kyle nodded. “Yes, I know. But he doesn't want to. Not right now. He’ll let you know.”

Stiles felt like he was accepting a bribe as he took the envelope. “This is from _Shawn_ ,” he said, just to be clear. Kyle nodded.

“I’ll make sure he calls you next week when he's feeling better, like you asked,” said Kyle.

On the other end of the porch, Stiles’ dad and both of Jordan’s parents showed up to wait on him. Stiles shoved the envelope in his pocket, crossed his arms as he mentally debated with himself.

“Does Shawn know who the baby’s dad is? For certain?” he finally asked. The glitch was that Kyle was a liar by nature and trade, so Stiles figured he knew what the answer would be, either way; asking Kyle was just setting up to be told what he wanted to hear, total cognitive bias at work.

“He says he does,” said Kyle. He sounded surprised. “He says he only went out the one time because he didn't know if it would work. And he just happened to pick the one cop in the group of EMTs. He would have rather snagged the doctor but he couldn't break past the clique. Jordan didn't tell you?”

“He told me,” said Stiles, shrugging it off. “But Shawn hadn't.”

“Ah. Well. He told me it was your very own good deputy. Duped and drunk but happy to oblige,” said Kyle. Stiles rolled his eyes and figured that was the end of the attempt to treat Kyle as a human.

“You’re an ass,” he informed the man, matter of fact about it.

“I’m a good one,” Kyle agreed. Still, he offered a hand out to shake on it. “So... truce?”

Stiles considered it before accepting. “Speaking for myself, sure. But stay the hell away from my family. Because they won't.”

As if to prove his point, his dad showed up at his shoulder then, not looking very happy at the prospect of handshake deals being tried on the omega.

“Are you done here? Because we need to go,” said the sheriff, in the appropriately authoritative voice.

“Yessir. Just leaving...” Kyle offered up the fake shark-smile again. He edged around the sheriff to catch the porch stairs rather than hop over the railing. He even offered a nod of acknowledgement to Judge Parrish and her husband as he tried not to run away from them. “Just send the papers through the lawyers when they’re ready.”

Stiles and his dad stood and watched to be sure Kyle left the property. When Peter took it upon himself to follow Kyle to his flashy sports car parked at the curb, Stiles pointed it out.

“Look... _sometimes_ he's useful...”

“Don't tell Jordan that,” said Lilah. She still held baby Shiloh curled to her chest and didn't look like she was in a hurry to give her up. Stiles patted his pocket to change the topic.

“Kyle gave me money. To make sure Shiloh has a crib and clothes and stuff,” he said.

“That was decent of him,” said JT.

“He said it's for Shawn,” Stiles added. JT nodded.

“That sounds more like it,” he said. He looked to Lilah. “I think when the boy is out of the hospital, I’ll stop over. Offer to help get him back on his feet.”

Lilah shook her head. “If there's trouble, leave it to you to find it.”

Stiles’ dad squinted over at him, accusing. “That sounds like you.”

JT smiled, proud somehow and nodded toward Jordan’s approach from the driveway. “Must be a Freudian thing.”

Poor Jordan was not expecting to be handed his daughter by his laughing mother as his equally amused father carefully shoved Stiles at him.

“What...”

Stiles held his hands up to keep any of the mess from smearing him. “I didn't do it.”

***


	32. Chapter 32

Being home again was weird. Stiles had been gone only four days, but so much had happened. He wanted to sleep for a week to recover. Except Shiloh only slept about three hours at a time, so that idea was a bust. And Stiles really didn't mind that she kept him busy. It was something new, and it was drastically different from the monotony of school. He had a challenge again, a new little mystery to sort out. If he didn't sort it out, he wouldn't sleep; not quite as dangerous as having to sort out werewolves or be eaten, but no less demanding.

Suddenly keeping the house clean made sense because what if he tripped over a mess while carrying the baby? What if she was allergic to dust? What if they ran out of pans to warm the baby bottles? The stupid Omega Track was less of an annoyance because some parts were suddenly relevant to life as Stiles was going to have to live it. It wasn't some obscure far away theory, it was now, and it was loud, and it made one helluva mess in diapers. (Thankfully he already knew how to do the laundry.)

So for most of Wednesday, Stiles cleaned his dad’s house. Shiloh watched or slept from her carrier. JT had helped clear out the guest bedroom on Saturday before Peter hijacked him, so that room was ready for all the baby furniture. Jordan was in charge of that, because Stiles didn't want to leave the house so soon after getting home. He cleaned the kitchen, the bathroom, and made sure the living room floor was safe for baby blankets and pacifiers.

And eventually he texted his friends to tell them he was home and had a permanent plus-one for all social gatherings.

That went over about as well as could be expected. Lydia replied to the text in all capital letters. Scott didn't actually reply. He ditched his last class and showed up at Stiles’ front door instead. He actually had to knock because Stiles had the door dead-bolted a couple of times.

“What the hell do you mean Jordan had a baby?” he wanted to know. No _hello_ , no _glad you’re still alive bro_. Just straight to the clarification of an admittedly slightly vague text. Stiles shrugged and held the door open for Scott to walk in the house.

“I mean he and Shawn made a baby,” he said. Scott waved his hands like he was still waiting for the punchline.

“And you _stole_ it?”

Stiles shut the door quietly and pointed Scott to the dining room because Shiloh was still asleep in the living room. “Technically.”

Scott looked like he might fall over. Things didn't seem to be processing. “You don't want kids. You've been saying that all month-”

Stiles shook his head and leaned against the clean and cleared dining room table. He hopped up to sit on the edge and waved Scott to one of the chairs. “I don't want Kyle getting Jordan’s baby, either. No way. If I can figure out werewolf puppies I can figure out a tiny baby.”

Scott leaned against a chair, too distracted to fully process moving the chair enough to sit in it. “You’re going really far, man...” he said.

“Not really.” Stiles wasn't sure yet if he needed to tell his friend off or tolerate the third degree. He kind of did drop a bombshell on him, but at the same time, it wasn't Scott who got diaper duty. It was Stiles and Jordan. Scott didn't really have a say in it.

Scott shook his head. He looked very genuinely concerned. “A baby isn't how you tell everyone to leave you alone. She won't make everything normal again.”

Stiles shrugged it off. “She's not a protest flag or something, she's a baby. She's _my_ kid, my responsibility.”

“But you hate everything she's gonna make you do,” said Scott.

“And sometimes, when the whole world is crazy anarchy, the only way to rebel is to conform,” said Stiles. “If I want to make sense out of any of this alpha and ‘mega stuff, I'm gonna need her to teach me. I actually _want_ her to teach me.”

Still confused, Scott held up his hands, tried to take a step back as if that could somehow pull the whole thing into better perspective for Stiles. He was being careful because he seemed very confused. “Look, don't hit me or anything, but I'm worried, okay? You’ve had a really bad couple of months. And the last time that happened...”

And then it made sense. All of it. Stiles and his friends had been through a lot over the last two years, and some of it had left scars; they could heal, but they couldn't forget no matter how hard they tried. And it kind of made sense in hindsight, given how upset everything with the school had left Stiles for the past month. All his friends saw was Stiles, acting wrong, and getting angry or sad or disappearing. Stiles hung his head and tried to figure out how to reassure Scott - and eventually the others - that he hadn't gone crazy this time. Really. He scrubbed at his face and tried to think how to start over.

“Yeah, man, I get it,” he said. “The last time you saw me _this_ tired and this _stressed_ and doing anything _not_ normal, people died. I get it.”

Scott nodded, sensing an open door to understanding finally. “Yeah, kinda. I mean, you were stressed _before_... now there's a _baby_ in it...”

Stiles waved his hands to shut that one down. “That's on _Jordan_ being stressed. Totally his fault. I was not involved in that whole process. Like, at all.”

It was meant to be a joke but Scott didn't smile. He saw only the downsides of a tiny human adding to Stiles’ mental workload. “Then why do _you_ have to clean up after something that's _his_ fault that makes the rest of us worry you’re about five seconds from breaking out the samurai swords? I mean, we were trying to get you back on the team, trying to get things back to normal...”

Stiles cringed and had to sit in quiet for a moment, reminding himself not to let it get to him that his friends were afraid of him. They weren't afraid of _him_ , they were afraid of a fox demon, and that bastard was nowhere around anymore. Everyone was safe. Things were going to be okay, he just had to get Scott past the old stuff to help him see the new stuff that Stiles was hanging on to.

“Because, Scott. Normal wasn't working for me. I was not happy. I'm not happy. I miss the old normal and the school won't let me have that. The courts won't. I can't actually get back to normal,” he said. He waved around at the freakishly clean Stilinski house. “Why keep fighting for it when it's bigger than me? Why not find a _new_ way to do things? Maybe Shiloh’s my excuse to do a reboot.”

“Isn't getting married a big enough one though? All the court stuff...”

“Yes. And Shiloh is my new _husband's_ baby. That makes her mine, too. I'm not gonna sit at home, take care of the baby, make him coffee and dinner every day and fit somebody else’s pattern. I’d go _crazy_. Like, actually crazy,” said Stiles. It would be too much like someone telling him what to do, someone giving him orders he would have to follow. That wasn't how Stiles worked.

“So me and Shiloh are gonna sort it out and Jordan’s gonna figure out how to keep up when he's not at work,” he went on. “If I'm gonna do what everybody wants the Omega to do, I'm still gonna do it _my way_. Which means I keep the baby with me until Jordan’s got a place for all of us and I know my dad’s okay on his own.”

He was calm as he talked but he still talked with his hands, he still gave off the overall everything that was a present and in control Stiles, for whatever good that would do. Stiles was trying to reach his friend without somehow screwing it all up and that was hard. But he tried, and Scott seemed to be paying attention. He scrubbed at his messy shaggy haircut and stared at Stiles, frowning.

“So you’re honestly okay with all this?” Scott asked.

Stiles nodded at him. “Now that Kyle’s gone? _Hell_ yeah. I'm actually kinda looking forward to school again. At least a little. I mean, it’ll be weird without Shawn. But now if they want to teach me how to run a household, great, since I’ve got one that I can help now.”

“That's all school is for for you? But what about the other stuff? Like history and math and-”

“It's not on the track. I get Omega stuff on the Omega Track. It's not school. _That's_ what I've been trying to tell you for a month. That's why I've been going crazy. It's like they kicked me out of school and I don't get to graduate unless I do the Omega thing. So... now I have a reason to give a damn about it all.”

Things fell quiet as Scott processed everything. Then he finally nodded, his shoulders dropped and he seemed to relax. At least a little.

“Are you going to drop lacrosse again?” he asked. He did seem a little afraid of the answer. Stiles shook his head.

“Not unless you make me.”

Scott grinned at him. “I can't _make_ you do anything. Not your alpha.”

Jumping down from the table, Stiles met that with a firm nod. “I don't _need_ one. Only friends. I’ve got some great friends.”

The old winning Scott McCall smile snuck in then. Stiles figured maybe, possibly, for the first time in a month, he had his friend back. He pounced on Scott in an energetic tackle and Scott dragged him into a hug. When he pulled back, his friend was still bright eyed and grinning.

“And most of us think babies are cute,” Scott said. Stiles lifted a hand, tilted it back and forth as he weighed it out.

“I'm not one hundred percent on Malia not trying to eat her,” he said. Scott shrugged.

“I said _most_.”

 

***

 

It was Thursday before Stiles made it back to school. They had to clear it with Vecchio before the newborn Shiloh could go to daycare, and Stiles even threatened to take her to his classes with him if they didn't let him go. He wasn't recovering from anything, he was healthy, she was healthy, there was no reason at all he couldn't start incorporating his tiny daughter into his life the way he knew best how. That was school. That was being around his friends. After the past few weeks, if there was anything Stiles was absolutely positive about in life, it was that his _school_ wasn't going to shove him around. Nobody stood behind the principal with a gun and a shitty, bigoted attitude. So they made it happen.

The one thing he couldn't do about it all, however, was change the rule that said he could only play sports if his attendance was up to par. So Stiles and Shiloh sat with Lydia and Allison on the bleacher bench at practice that day, providing plenty of good luck and distraction for everyone at scrimmage.

“She shouldn't be here,” someone tried to tell him. “It's practice. She's just in the way. What if she gets hurt?”

That's when Derek the guard-wolf sat up and showed big white teeth to convince the idiot to go away. They had it down to a system and it was only the first day back. Stiles held up a hand in an effort to fist-bump the dog-paw for the victory. Derek just looked at him, wolffish expression flat and unimpressed. Stiles rolled his eyes and taught Shiloh how to fist-bump even though she could barely lift her arms on her own.

As a surprise, Jordan showed up at the field to take them to Stiles’ Spanish class at the college. There was a bit of a scene at his approach, too: he carried goddamned balloons and a red box.

“What the hell...” Stiles stood up from the bleachers to go greet Jordan at the stairs, leaving Shiloh in her carrier with the girls under Derek’s capable watch.

“You’re early...” he told Jordan. The deputy nodded.

“I know, Stiles. I've got a pretty good handle on time,” he said, smiling. “And happy Valentine's Day to you, too.”

Stiles blinked at him. He hadn't even processed the date, he had been so busy. He might have had a mental block on it because of the thing with Shawn. “Oh...”

The scrimmage had broken up a bit as Scott and Danny wandered over to investigate the scene on the stairs. Jordan handed Stiles the box then. It looked like a re-purposed donut-carrying pastry box, but Jordan had wrapped it in paper that looked like zombies had gotten into it, all red and blotchy by design. Rust red and brown tissue paper lined the inside when Stiles opened it up. There was a definite theme. All it was missing was a few bullet holes.

“Massacred anyone recently?” he asked, grinning. Jordan shrugged.

“I'm on the wrong side of the law for that,” he said. “Pretty sure the only connections I _don't_ have now are mafia.”

Stiles hardly heard him. He had gotten to the actual gift the box hid. A piece of paper, with the county seal on the corner, already clipped to a clipboard. The legal marriage application, with just Jordan’s signature on it, and no other witness or representative or guardian marks filled in. It wasn't even the omega form Lydia's mom had given his dad to file.

“Holy shiiiiit...” For some reason it hit Stiles really hard. He stood there with his mouth open, staring like a stupid fish, because words were not cooperating.

“The court had already thrown out the certificate by the time the suit was dropped,” Jordan explained, quiet because of the small crowd that had followed him. “So I thought maybe this time you’d want to fill it out yourself.”

Somehow Lydia appeared at Stiles’ shoulder then, poised to hand him a fancy pen with the cap already removed for him. “Here you go,” she said primly, like she knew that Stiles had been mentally scrounging for a pen.

Stiles shuffled the box around to pull the clipboard out. As he did, another box, smaller, also the obnoxious Valentine's red, made its presence known and he had to juggle to keep from dropping things. Jordan caught the tissue paper box so that Stiles could catch the other two. The contents of the small box wasn't much of a mystery: a silver ring. Stiles took it out of the box without preamble and started waving for Jordan to give him his hand. As Lydia stepped in to take the boxes and excuses from him, Jordan looked concerned.

“What-”

“I already have a ring, you don't get it back,” said Stiles, showing off the class ring Jordan had given him a few weeks earlier. Stiles took advantage of Jordan’s confusion to slip the new ring on his finger. “That one is yours.”

“That’s not how it works, Stiles...”

“It is now,” Stiles said. “You should hold this so I can sign it.”

Amused and maybe a little embarrassed, Jordan shook his head and did as he was told. Stiles signed his own name on the line, as well as filled out the extra information pertaining to himself on the form. Then he capped the pen to hand it back to Lydia as Jordan investigated the marriage license application he had committed himself to.

“If you file that, you’re locked in, man. Till death and the whole chimichanga,” Stiles warned him. Jordan nodded, smiled back at him.

“It’ll be a bloodbath,” he agreed. “That's why I figured you’d want to take care of the formalities on St. Valentine's Day. Start it off right.”

Stiles knew his cheeks were bright pink because he really, really wanted to stir up scandal right there on the bleachers; _“Under-aged Omega makes out with Sheriff’s Deputy on the Lacrosse Field_ ” would make the papers, not just the local Facebook viral videos. So he just stood there, grinning stupidly at Jordan.

“Oh my god would you two stop being nerds?” grumbled Lydia. She shoved Stiles at Jordan enough to close the distance Stiles was using as an excuse for propriety. He got to feel Jordan’s smile instead of just see it finally. It was really cool to be the guy getting kissed as half the lacrosse team cheered _him_ on for the victory.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****
> 
> The End!!!
> 
> (really. promise. FINALLY!!!)


End file.
